


Calamine

by tkayo



Series: Mirrors of Loathing [1]
Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Wax and Wayne Series - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Background Het, Background Relationships, Background Waxillium "Wax" Ladrian/Steris Harms, Bands of Mourning (Brandon Sanderson), Canon Divergence, Does Marasi Colms Is Gay?, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Marasi Deserved Better, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 73,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24891937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkayo/pseuds/tkayo
Summary: cal·a·mine |  ˈka-lə-ˌmīn | nounA term for a cadmium-bearing mixture of minerals.Obsolete.(Or, a Bands of Mourning AU where Marasi gets agency, a proper character arc, and, most importantly, a hot shapeshifter gf)
Relationships: Marasi Colms/MeLaan (Mistborn), Waxillium "Wax" Ladrian/Wayne (one-sided)
Series: Mirrors of Loathing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809268
Comments: 142
Kudos: 42





	1. Favor The Sea Gulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > One meteorologist remarked that if the theory were correct, one flap of a sea gull's wings would be enough to alter the course of the weather forever. The controversy has not yet been settled, but the most recent evidence seems to **favor the sea gulls**. 
> 
> \- Edward Lorenz (later changed from a sea gull to a butterfly) 

For two glorious hours, Marasi Colms _mattered._

VenDell wanted _her._ Sure, he’d gone to Waxillium first, and made no attempt to hide it. Sure, it was only her connection to Waxillium that made her relevant to the kandra’s interests in the first place. Sure, Wayne’s request to return to the mansion was a completely unsubtle ploy at getting Wax involved.

But none of that mattered, because Waxillium wasn’t working with them, and she _was-_

-and then he walked in, and she just _knew_ that it was all over.

“Sorry about this,” she said, trying and failing to keep the colour from her face. “We were going to go to my flat to talk, but Wayne insisted…”

“Needed some nuts,” the man in question said, tiny fragments of half-chewed walnut flying from his lips as he spoke. “When you invited me to stay here, you _did_ say to make myself at home, mate.” He was slouched in an easy chair with his filthy boots up on the coffee table, MeLaan draped over the other chair in the set next to him.

The kandra woman (if the word ‘woman’ even applied) was wearing a new body, one Marasi hadn’t seen before - tall and lean, straight blonde hair in a simple tail, wearing a loose blouse and trousers that looked almost uncomfortably tight. Her posture was similar to Wayne’s, loose and relaxed with her hands behind her head, but where Wayne’s was practised, deliberate insouciance, hers had more of an air of effortless confidence about it. Marasi wasn’t sure if it was part of the character MeLaan was playing, or a quality MeLaan herself possessed - if there even was any such thing as a ‘real’ MeLaan. 

Waxillium tucked his thumbs into his belt, something Marasi had noticed he did when he wanted to appear authoritative but not intimidating. Part of his ‘rough country lawman’ schtick- _affect._ His _affect._

“I’m still unclear as to why you _needed_ a place to talk,” he said slowly. All eyes in the room had turned to him, and he seemed to unconsciously settle into the centre of attention. “I said I wasn’t going to help.”

“Quite so,” VenDell said. “As you were unavailable, of necessity I turned to other options.” _That’s me, Marasi Second-Choice Colms._ Maybe someday they’d start calling her that, the way they called Wax “Dawnshot”. “Lady Colms has been so kind as to listen to my proposition.

“Marasi?” Wax asked. “You went to Marasi?”

VenDell said something in reply, but Marasi didn’t hear it. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, focusing on the thin crescents of pain to keep her from saying something. _A lady is polite and courteous, a lady does not lose her temper._ A small part of her brain, the one she ignored most of the time, whispered _a warrior is blunt, a warrior is unafraid_ , but listening to that voice had never led to anything good.

Whatever VenDell had said, it didn’t seem to have convinced Wax.

“You’re trying to get to me through another route, aren’t you?” he accused VenDell.

“Look who’s full of himself,” MeLaan replied from her chair, saving Marasi from opening her mouth without thinking.

“He’s always full of himself,” Wayne drawled casually. “Mostly on account of him eatin’ his own fingernails. I seen him do it.”

Everyone else in the room shuddered simultaneously, except for MeLaan, who grinned at him and stole one of his walnuts.

Marasi marshalled her thoughts, pushing the emotions back down into their box. “Is it so ridiculous,” she asked Wax, “that they’d actually want my help?” She was proud of herself for how diplomatic it came out. 

Waxillium looked at her for the first time since entering the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” To his credit, he did look genuinely contrite; as much as a stoic like him ever did, anyway.

“Then what way _did_ you mean it?”

Wax sighed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. All of a sudden, he looked… _old_. Old and tired. “I don’t know, Marasi. It’s been a long day. I got shot at, got a water tower dumped on my head, and had my wedding fall apart. Now Wayne is dropping broken walnut shells all over my chair. Honestly, I think I just need a drink.”

Once again, Marasi did the proper thing, corralling her emotions as Wax trudged his way past her to the bar. It _had_ been a rather long day for him, even if that wasn’t in any way related to what he thought of her as a person-

She forced a small, tired smile onto her face. “Will you get me one too?” she asked Waxillium as he passed. “Because this is all making me go a little crazy.”

Based on the way he smiled at that, he didn’t consider himself a part of ‘this’. It was a nice smile, though - even a few years ago, she would have been pleased as punch with herself to receive a smile like that from Waxillium Dawnshot. But now some of the lustre had come off, and it didn’t seem quite so… _important_ , anymore. 

Even if it _wasn’t_ his wedding day. Which it was.

While Wax dug around in the bar, Marasi happened to glance over and see MeLaan staring at her. Or, not staring, no - just looking, but doing it quite attentively. It was unnerving in a way Marasi couldn’t quite pin down, but then VenDell revealed his ‘evanoscope’, and she quickly forgot all about it, too caught up in a new case, a new mystery to solve, a new puzzle to piece together.

For a short while, she even managed to forget about her earlier anger. It stung, to be sure, but just because Wax had walked in on their meeting, it didn’t mean that he was going to get involved - rusts, the man himself kept insisting he wouldn’t!

And then Telsin appeared in the final image, and it all came rushing back, worse than ever, because now Marasi knew that Wax would be coming after all, and that VenDell had _obviously_ planned this, obviously placed that image at the end for dramatic effect. She couldn’t even blame Wax for it; it was his _sister._ But- but-

 _Ooh_ , how she wanted to blame him. To have someone she could point the finger at, unleash her mounting frustration. Except now he was white as a sheet, looking even older than he had earlier, and she just- couldn’t. Not that she would’ve to begin with, but now she was just being outright self-centred.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, standing with bag in hand. “I should get to packing.” She glanced at Wayne, and jerked her head towards Wax where he’d slumped into a chair.

"What?" he mouthed.

"Help him," she mouthed back. _He’s your friend, you- insensitive buffoon._

She pointedly ignored the little voice that said Waxillium was _her_ friend too, and turned to VenDell. “We leave this evening, yes?”

“Indeed, Lady Colms.” If VenDell seemed off-put by her sudden departure, he didn’t show it. “Seven p.m. sharp. Although I _personally_ will not be accompanying you; MeLaan will be.”

“Then I shall see you at half six,” she said to MeLaan with a nod, and did her best not to appear like she was storming out as she left.

“Hey,” she heard Wayne say from behind her, “why’d Marasi storm out like that?”

 _Well, rust_.

* * *

A knock at the door of her apartment nearly threw off Marasi’s concentration. 

“One moment,” she called, squeezing her eyes shut again. Visualisation had been the most help so far, and she worked to maintain her mental image as she went to burn cadmium.

Whoever was at her door knocked again, louder and more forceful, and she lost it entirely. 

“Nuts,” she muttered under her breath. The charitable assumption was that her first response had simply been too quiet, but she wasn’t feeling in a particularly charitable mood. Stalking over to the doorway, she paused before it and took a deep breath, calming herself, before she opened it.

“Howdy,” MeLaan said, tipping her hat.

Marasi blinked, taken aback. “...’howdy’?”

MeLaan smirked. “Not a fan?” she asked, rocking back on her heels. “Thought I’d give Rougher a whirl, see what Dawnshot’s on about.” She was wearing the same face and outfit as earlier in the day, but had added a broad-brimmed hat to the ensemble. 

“Well,” Marasi said slowly, “it’s certainly… verisimilitudinous?” Belatedly, she remembered her manners. “Oh, please come in.”

“Charmed,” MeLaan drawled as she stepped inside.

Marasi winced.

“Too much?”

“I mean,” she hedged, “I already know you’re putting on a character, so maybe to someone who didn’t…?”

MeLaan chuckled, low and throat, and took her hat off. Her demeanour changed, losing the lazy slouch, shedding the affect like snakeskin. “Mark that one down as a work in progress, then.”

“You’ve never had to imitate someone from the Roughs before?” Marasi asked, curious despite herself.

“Nah, plenty of times. But that was a role, not _me_.”

“Oh, of course,” Marasi said, not understanding in the slightest. 

“Cute place,” MeLaan commented as they entered the living room. “If I’d known being a constable paid so well, I’d…” 

Marasi, following behind her, realised just too late what had inspired the reaction. 

“Marasi,” MeLaan said slowly. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but it appears someone has broken into your apartment. And covered the floor in clocks.”

Marasi sighed, slipping past her to shepherd the other woman into the kitchen instead, where there was no view of the twenty-odd cheap clocks arranged in a circle on the floor of her living room. 

“No, no-one broke in,” she explained. “Those are mine. Can I get you something? Water, tea?”

“Nothing for me, thanks, I’ll only be a minute. And I’ve got to say, I’m glad you’ve finally found a thing! Congratulations!”

“A… thing?”

“Yeah, you know. Wayne’s got the hats and the… Wayne-ness, Wax has his whole rough-and-tumble simple country lawman persona, Steris has her lists. And now you’re the clock lady, so it’s nice and even. It’s a _good_ thing too - almost Wayne-like, I’d say.”

“I’m not- it’s not a _thing_ , I was-” Marasi cut herself off. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Did you come by just to make fun of me, or was there something else?”

“Hey, I wasn’t making fun of you! Completely sincere at all times, that’s me.” MeLaan grinned down at her - the kandra’s current form was, after all, almost a full head taller than her.

Marasi didn’t like it.

“But yeah,” MeLaan continued, “I just came around to drop off the tickets for the train, courtesy of VenDell.” Casually, one of her forearms unfurled, and Marasi hastily looked away before she threw up. “Oh, whoops. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Marasi lied, steadfastly looking away.

“All back to normal now, I promise.” Sure enough, the flesh of her arm was once again smooth and unbroken, and she held a small roll of documents in her other hand. Marasi almost wanted to reach out and touch the skin, to try and find the seam, but pushed down the impulse and took the papers instead.

“You just… keep things inside you?” she asked.

“Sure,” MeLaan said with a shrug. “It’s convenient _and_ it’s safe - as long as you don’t put anything soluble somewhere soggy.”

“I suppose,” Marasi said, as she browsed through the papers. Train tickets, hotel bookings, nothing particularly interesting. “I just can’t really imagine being so casual about splitting my body open.”

“Well, yeah; it’s not normal for you, but it is for me. _I_ can’t really imagine being so casual about having breasts!” She reached up and grabbed her own, waggling them for emphasis. “You have _no_ idea how weird these are, trust me. Just big sacks of fat, just… always _there._ ”

Marasi felt like her cheeks were on fire. “Ah, e-excuse me for a moment,” she squeaked, spinning around and practically sprinting out of the kitchen.

“Sure, take your time,” MeLaan called after her. “Not like we’re on a schedule or anything.”

Marasi ignored her. She ducked into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it. It was terribly rude of her, she knew, but if she’d stayed and watched MeLaan do… _that_ for even another second, she genuinely might’ve fainted. 

She took a few deep breaths, fanning herself with the papers in an effort to cool herself off. The thought of having to face MeLaan again after reacting like that was plenty embarrassing in its own right, but it wasn’t exactly like she _wanted_ to react that way whenever anyone brought up… sensitive matters. It was just so _mortifying,_ even within the constraints of polite society, and MeLaan was anything but polite. It was like dealing with a lady version of Wayne, with just as much crude fascination with the female form and significantly more… access.

With a sigh, Marasi stood up straight, wiping at her face with one hand. The sooner this encounter was over, the better. She tucked the papers into her satchel where it rested on the nightstand, then exited her bedroom.

“Sorry about that,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. “I just-”

She stopped, realising that the kandra was nowhere to be seen.

“MeLaan?” she called hesitantly.

“Oh, uh- in here.” MeLaan actually sounded contrite, for once; likely because her voice was coming from Marasi’s office. 

Marasi’s _locked_ office.

When she opened the door, it was with righteous fury at having her privacy invaded. That was quickly replaced with mortification, however, when she saw MeLaan standing in the centre of the room, staring at the wall opposite to her desk.

More specifically, at the large corkboard hanging on the wall, and the messy spiderweb of paper and string that it held. The sum total of her research into Trell, and the mysterious metal spike that had driven Paalm insane.

“I take it back,” MeLaan said.

That... had not been the reaction Marasi had been expecting. “...take what back?”

MeLaan glanced over at her with a grin. “Wayne’s thing ain’t got _nothing_ on this.”

Marasi smiled weakly back, but it was more a reflexive mirroring of the other woman than anything else. 

“Look,” she began, then stopped. “Wait, no. I’m angry at you! I refuse to be embarrassed just because you invaded my privacy!”

“Yeahhh, sorry about that,” MeLaan said insincerely. “In my defence… Actually, I don’t have anything, I was just curious.”

Marasi huffed, folding her arms. It was hard to stay angry - she kept finding herself torn between it and the desire to explain and contextualise.

“Well, now that you’ve seen this,” she said irritatedly, “is there any other private business of mine you’d like to dig into? Perhaps you’d like to go digging through my underwear drawer next?!”

“Yeah, sure, could be fun,” MeLaan said distractedly. While Marasi spluttered, the kandra stepped closer to the board, leaning in to finger one of the pictures idly. “You’re really hung up on this Trell thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m surprised you’re _not_ ,” Marasi countered. “There’s a foreign, _hostile_ god interfering with our society, but I’m the crazy one for being worried about it?”

“I’m guessing you’re not Pathian, then?”

“Survivorist, actually.” More culturally than religiously, but she didn’t need to know that. “So if you were about to suggest having a little faith in Harmony, I think we all saw how well that worked out last time.” 

_Waxillium Dawnshot, legendary lawman, sitting numbly in a chair by a fire, completely unaware of the tears that dripped down his cheeks._

“Whoa, there,” MeLaan said, raising her hands. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression. I’m not criticising your concerns, I promise. This is good stuff, and we should probably sit down and talk about it sometime. I was just- well, if you’ll forgive me being a little blunt; do you... have any friends, Marasi?”

“ _Excuse_ me?!” Marasi spluttered indignantly. “What sort of- how _dare-_ I don’t-”

“Yeah,” MeLaan sighed, “that’s what I thought. Look, we’ve got a few hours before the train leaves, and I know a good bar not too far from the station. Let’s go get a drink, and you can rant about Ladrian leeching your metal like you so clearly want to.”

Marasi hesitated. She’d never admit it out loud, especially not to a relative stranger like MeLaan, but she _didn’t_ have friends, not really. Oh, she had Wax and Wayne, of course, but they were in that weird halfway zone between colleagues and friends, and were both older men besides.

Truthfully, she'd let her social life atrophy, first due to her legal training and then again when she'd switched careers to the constabulary. It had felt like a worthwhile sacrifice at the time, focusing on her studies and her work rather than cultivating a circle of friends- any friends at all, to tell the truth.

Now, though, she was sorely feeling its absence. She didn’t have anyone she could turn to when she was feeling particularly morose, and so instead she just tended to rust in her own misery. Marasi loved her sister, of course she did, but expecting Steris to understand and sympathise with a complex social and interpersonal struggle? Marasi might as well be asking Wayne to make a coherent metaphor. He would be no help, either - quite apart from the fact that Marasi still didn’t quite know how to interact with him half the time, the man was a congenital second-stringer who thought Wax pissed mists and passed atium. 

And so within what passed for a social circle for Marasi, that left…

Well, it left MeLaan.

“Fine,” Marasi said stiffly. “But I’ll have you know that I have no interest in ‘ranting’ of any kind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's the thing about brandon sanderson's female characters.  
> even when they're strong characters on their own, they rarely ever actually interact with other women who they arent related to. way of kings was a rare exception, but then after that shallan and jasnah got shunted off in separate directions. vin mostly interacts with the all-male crew, vivenna mostly interacts with denth's crew (but not jewels!) while siri interacts with the king and the priest, khriss is the only woman in her expedition and doesnt interact with the guardswoman whose name i forget, and so on.  
> so like. does Marasi have friends? what does she do with her free time? who does she go to for emotional support? we don't know, it never comes up - hell, we never even see her apartment.  
> so take all that, add to it the fact that sanderson's mormonism makes most of his desire look like comphet (regardless of gender), and well... you get this.  
> this isnt going to be 'wax dies and marasi is the protagonist now' and its not gonna be one of those rationalfics where she's suddenly super competent at everything or w/e. i was just really disappointed with the way her arc resolved in bands of mourning, wanted to give her something better, and figured i could kill two birds with one stone by spending more time with MeLaan, both for Lesbianisms and for a little more insight into what i think gender and sexuality must be like on scadrial. if marasi's characterisation seems a little off, its probably just because im trying to spin something more out of what we know about her history than specifically the ways she acts, bc the latter dont always line up with the former and the former are more interesting.  
> we'll mostly be following the loose structure of bands of mourning, but with these two interacting a lot more - the chapter count is just a loose estimate based on the beats i want to hit, so don't set your watch by it.  
> fair warning: i WILL be getting extremely self-indulgent with the romance beats. i will not apologise, i will not change.  
> i also have a half-written oneshot prequel that's just Marasi and Ranette interacting, so if I finish that i'll post it as a separate work and make a series.  
> anyway, hope you enjoy! next chapter: ranting and railroads


	2. How Small A Part of A Woman's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. **And how small a part of a woman's life** is that...
> 
> \- Virginia Woolf, _A Room of One's Own_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i removed the slow burn tag, as it turns out, contrary to my recollections, Bands of Mourning only takes place over like a week maximum, which is nowhere near long enough for a good slow burn

“It’s just so _infuriating!”_ Marasi ranted. “And the worst part is that he doesn’t even seem to _realise_ it!”

The bar was somehow nothing and everything Marasi had expected based on MeLaan’s… general approach to life. On one hand, it was dark, dirty, dingy and a litany of other words that started with “d”, tucked into a back alley with barely legible signage. On the other, it was quiet (although that could have just been due to it being the middle of the afternoon on a workday), the glasses were surprisingly clean, and the bartender hadn’t given her a second glance or called her anything demeaning.

“Of course he doesn’t,” MeLaan agreed mildly. When Marasi turned a glare on her, she laughed. “Not agreeing with it, but he’s been capital-I Important since the day he was born. Why would he notice? It’s like the arm thing, or breasts. That’s just normal for him.”

Marasi flushed, and took a sip of her drink to try and cover it. “I thought we agreed to stop bringing up the… bringing up that topic.” 

Mindful of the trip ahead of them and the need for a clear head, Marasi had chosen to simply nurse a middle-shelf whiskey, taking small, cautious sips. MeLaan, by contrast, was on her fourth ale, and seemed no worse for wear. Apparently, she wasn’t actually digesting the alcohol, but that mostly left Marasi confused as to why she was drinking in the first place.

“Yeah,” MeLaan agreed shamelessly, “but it’s fun making you blush. You look like a tomato - a cute one, though.”

That, of course, only made the blushing worse. “What do you mean?” she asked instead. “It’s not like he’s spoiled or anything.”

“Well, he _is_ ,” MeLaan countered, “but that wasn’t the point I was making. Think about it. Not only is he the eldest, _male_ child of a noble house that is directly descended from the Counsellor of Gods, he’s also a Twinborn. Either one of those alone would make a person rare and unique - Wayne’s only got the latter, and he’s still _hilariously_ self-centred.”

Marasi frowned. “I thought you liked Wayne?”

“I do! Doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge he’s got his own head so far up his own ass that he could swallow his metals again.”

The sudden crudeness caught Marasi off-guard, and she barely avoided choking on her whiskey. “Rusts,” she coughed. “Ow.”

MeLaan snickered. “Anyway, the point I was making was that there’s never been a time in Ladrian’s life where he hasn’t been important. And now, well… VenDell _did_ approach him first. Can you blame him?”

 _I’d certainly like to,_ Marasi thought. Instead, she covered a scowl with another sip of mediocre whiskey. “That’s me,” she said bitterly. “Consolation-Prize Colms, they’ll say in the papers. My best quality? Why, it’s how _upright_ I was.”

“Oh, come off it,” MeLaan said cheerily, “don’t be pathetic.”

“Wh- _excuse_ me?!”

“You’re excused.” She set her now-empty flagon down on the bar and rapped it lightly with her knuckles. “If you want people to think of you more positively, wallowing in your own self-pity certainly isn’t going to help.”

“I am not-” Marasi stopped, looked around. “Well, okay,” she admitted, “maybe I am wallowing a little. But isn’t it fair that I get a _little_ wallowing?" She hadn't intended for it to be a question, but her resolve wavered in the face of MeLaan's unflinchingly neutral expression. "...isn’t it?"

"Mmm." MeLaan waggled her hand from side to side. "Want a bit of genuine immortal advice?"

Marasi made a show of looking around the bar. "Oh, there's an immortal here?"

"Ha!" MeLaan barked, throwing back her head. "So she _does_ bite!"

Marasi grinned back at her, feeling inordinately pleased by the other woman's approval.

“The thing about ‘fair’ is,” MeLaan continued, growing more serious, “you can look at life and you can find all the things that are unfair and tally them up and break down how they’re unfair, and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s good to know where you stand! But at the end of the day, it’s never going to be as helpful as figuring out _what you can change_ and _what you can’t_. You get me? ‘Fair’ and ‘unfair’ are _passive_ \- you’re treating yourself as something that is _acted upon._ Grant yourself agency, if you want to make changes, but don’t spend your time burning metals if it’s not something you can change.”

Marasi blinked, taken aback. She’d seen MeLaan deal out stentorian wisdom before, and was still unclear if that was actually her true face, but this felt like the first time she’d heard her give advice _without_ slipping into the Mighty Faceless Immortal persona.

“What are you saying?” she asked cautiously. 

“You feel like you’ll always be in Wax’s shadow. Can you do anything about it?”

“Well…” She put down her drink, and thought about it. “I guess not?” MeLaan waved her on encouragingly. “There’s only so much I can do to change how other people see me?”

“Now you’re getting it,” MeLaan said approvingly. “We’ll work on the question thing another time. So what _can_ you change?”

Marasi thought she saw where this was going. “My own actions, right? Or- no questions. I can change my own actions.”

“Home run from Colms!” To punctuate the point, she drained the entirety of her ale and slammed it back down on the counter. The motion drew attention to the lines of her neck and throat, and Marasi only barely managed to avert her gaze in time to avoid being noticed. 

“...what’s a ‘home run’?” she asked. 

“Oh, you haven’t watched any baseball? You should, the big guy keeps accidentally hinting it’s gonna be huge.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you talking about Harmony like that,” Marasi admitted ruefully. “Or the idea that Wax has _conversations_ with him. It’s so… _normal_.”

“If it helps, I knew him when he was just a regular guy - I think it’d be _weirder_ to venerate him when I’ve seen him in chains in a tiny cage at the bottom of a pit-” she cut herself off, frowning. “You know what? Forget I said anything, or I’ll be spending the next century working undercover in a travelling circus or something.”

Marasi laughed. “Already forgotten. Thank you, MeLaan. You’ve… given me a lot to think about.”

“That’s the idea,” MeLaan said with a wink, leaving Marasi embarrassingly flustered once again. “Now, come on, you can get the next round. I want to see how drunk I can get and still keep my shape.”

* * *

When they arrived at the train station, they found Steris waiting on the platform amidst a veritable forest of suitcases. Wayne was ambling around nearby, dressed in soggy clothes, very clearly drunk, and even more clearly waiting for someone to ask about either of those things. 

Marasi ignored him, navigating through the suitcases to join Steris. Why there were so many, she wasn’t entirely certain - she herself only had a single bag, which had in fact been a birthday gift from Steris. It had wheels and a long handle, and was eminently practical - a very Steris gift, in other words.

“Hi,” she said with a nod. Her sister turned to her with a practised smile, extending her arms, and Marasi leaned down for a quick hug. Truthfully, she didn’t mind forgoing the custom, knowing that Steris wasn’t comfortable with physical contact, but she knew it was something she was trying to work on getting better about. 

“Good evening, Marasi,” Steris said, “MeLaan. Were you-”

She froze, sniffing the air, then her expression morphed into one of shocked betrayal 

“Marasi?!” Steris cried. “Are _you_ drunk as well _?!_ ”

Marasi winced, but before she could reply, MeLaan stepped in. “Nah, that’d be me, sorry. I think all that ale I drank has started to-”

She paused, then let loose a thundering burp, accompanied by some extremely potent fumes.

“-ferment,” she finished shamelessly.

“I only had a single drink, Steris,” Marasi assured her sister, who was staring at the kandra with fascinated disgust. “You know I wouldn’t- you know I wouldn’t.” She glanced over quickly. “MeLaan, maybe you should go… flush your system?”

“Sure thing,” the kandra agreed easily. “I’ll just pop into the bathrooms, then.” She began to saunter off, but glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, and, whatever you do, _don’t_ follow me in. No matter what kind of noises you hear.”

For a second, Marasi wondered to herself what that could _possibly_ mean, then decided she was actually better off not knowing.

When she looked back, Steris’s expression had softened (to someone who knew her, anyway). “Of course you aren’t drunk. My apologies, Marasi. I was only caught off-guard by _him._ Although Survivor knows _why_ at this point.”

As one, they turned to look at where Wayne was now slumped against some of Steris’s luggage. 

“Too right,” he slurred with a grin. “Y’should really be used to me by now.”

“If that day should ever come,” Steris said primly, “I shall march down to the hospital and demand to be euthanised post-haste.”

“...s’at where a bunch of workers all get together and say ‘hey we won’t work anymore unless you suck up to us?’”

Steris looked utterly baffled at that, so Marasi, more used to Wayne, quickly interceded. “That’s ‘unionise’, Wayne. And actually, unions are more about ensuring standards of work and health for all workers, not just ‘sucking up’. Which, I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t know, considering your usual sympathy for ‘the plight of the working man’.” 

“I’m a lover,” Wayne drawled, “not a thinker, Marasi.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Speaking of-”

“ _No,_ ” both sisters chorused in unison. “Go find our cabins, why don’t you?” Marasi added. “I’m sure there’s a drinks cart somewhere aboard.”

That seemed to do the trick; Wayne immediately hopped to his feet and ambled towards the train. Marasi felt a little bad for loosing him on the unsuspecting train staff, but that was true of taking him anywhere.

“You’re quite adept at handling him,” Steris noted approvingly.

“Unfortunately,” Marasi sighed, “it’s just from a great deal of practice.”

“Mm,” Steris sniffed. “I shall endeavour to avoid gaining proficiency, then.”

Marasi chuckled. “Good luck with that, considering you’re marrying his best - and _only_ \- friend. Where is Wax, anyway?”

“Oh, Lord Waxillium ran off to pick up a few things. He should be back soon.” Steris brightened as she talked about her fiancee, and Marasi looked at her curiously.

“Steris?”

“Mm?”

“You’re… happy, right? With everything? I know it’s a political marriage, but you and Wax have been getting along better, right?”

Steris pursed her lips slightly as she stared off into the middle distance. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I don’t have much frame of reference, but I feel… satisfied, with the current arrangements.” She looked up at Marasi with a small, hesitant smile.

“That sounds like Steris-speak for ‘happy’ to me,” Marasi teased.

“We are not speaking- ah, I see. A joke. Then, yes, in ‘Steris-speak’, I think I am happy. Lord Waxillium is… kind. And respectful. I believe we have become something close to friends. And,” she continued, lowering her voice, “if I have to marry for politics, I could certainly have done with a worse view.”

“ _Steris_ ,” Marasi gasped, hitting her lightly on the shoulder. 

Her sister grinned, clearly a little embarrassed. “I am to be married to the man, Marasi. I think I should be allowed to at least appreciate his appearance.”

“And more,” Marasi murmured, her own cheeks flaming as the two shared a moment of embarrassed amusement. “I’m glad you’re happy, Steris. Truly.”

“Thank you, Marasi.” Steris paused, uncertain. “And… you?”

“What about me?” Marasi evaded.

“Are you… happy? I know you initially had feelings for L-”

“Oh, _please_ , let’s not talk about that,” Marasi said quickly, covering her face with a hand. “It doesn’t matter, it’s long past, I was young and stupid, forget it, let’s talk about _anything_ else.”

“Alright,” Steris agreed. “Then, can I ask why you and MeLaan arrived together? I wasn’t aware that you were friends.”

Marasi had to laugh at that. “Oh, we’re not.”

“Then... why were you and her drinking together?”

“Honestly? She came by to drop off the train tickets, and I think she… took pity on me.”

Steris’s eyes narrowed. “I _see_.”

Marasi suppressed a smile. Whatever you could say about Steris, no one had ever accused her of being anything less than fiercely protective. “It’s not like that, don’t worry. I… suppose I am a bit pitiable, in some ways.”

Another of Steris’s positive qualities; she wasn’t one for with false reassurances. “I fail to see what business it is of hers,” she said instead, rather icily.

Marasi chuckled. “It was good-intentioned, I think. She’s just… nosy. Rather like a female version of Wayne.” At Steris’s horrified expression, she quickly added, “Okay, so not quite that bad.”

As if summoned, the woman in question rejoined their group, along with Waxillium, who tipped his hat at Steris

“All clear,” MeLaan announced. “As long as you don’t use the last stall in the woman’s bathroom, that is.”

“Ah, I think I see Landre,” Steris said quickly. “Marasi, Lord Waxillium, if you’ll excuse me?” She walked off briskly without waiting for a response.

“I don’t smell _that_ bad, do I?” MeLaan asked.

Wax pursed his lips.

“You… could smell better?” Marasi tried.

“Rusts. Be right back, then. Gotta go modify some sweat pores.” She slipped away as well, leaving Marasi alone with Wax in the middle of the forest of bags.

“So,” he said after a moment.

“So.”

“Look, Marasi-” Wax sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you aren’t… _happy_ about me coming along.”

“What gave you that impression?” she protested weakly. 

He cocked an eyebrow. 

“Oh, alright,” she huffed, “well done, master detective. Listen, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re coming, I am.”

“Alright,” Wax said, clearly disbelieving. “Well, for what it’s worth, I know you’d be able to handle it on your own.”

The worst part was, he clearly meant it.

“But it’s your sister,” she finished for him. “I know, Wax.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Well. Off we go then.”

“Yes,” Marasi agreed. “Off _we_ go.”

Wax frowned. “...Marasi, are you _sure_ it isn’t a problem-”

“Oh, rust and ruin,” she snapped, stalking off, “let’s just get on the bloody train already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...women.  
> the chapter creep begins - the second half of this one was supposed to be them on the train already, but i got sidetracked by siblings. I know Marasi and Steris aren't particularly close in canon, but i think thats dumb so im going to ignore that. I personally come from a long line of ~~wives and mothers~~ siblings, and I think its crunchier if they're sort of reconciled as adults but also its still kind of tense.  
> other notes:  
> \- Seeing as Elendel has jazz, I think it's totally plausible for them to have baseball as well.  
> \- not 100% happy with MeLaan's voice in the first half of the chapter. not super concerned about sticking to her canon voice exactly, but its not quite the voice i wanted for her either. i have a firmer grasp of her character in the context of later events, so i think itll just settle in over time  
> \- views expressed in this chapter are those of the characters not the author - wax isnt particularly stoic, for example, marasi just first met him when he was deeply grieving for lessie. except for the stuff about wayne, i completely agree that he sucks and is basically the scadrian version of the Anime Pervert character.  
> \- I realised while writing this that MeLaan has an inexplicable Australian accent in my head, and it somehow fits  
> \- wrt the slowburn tag, I think slowburn still kinda fits, as this has very quickly evolved into a Project and I have plans for original content fics after this one is done. So don't expect a HEA at the end of *this* fic, but it's what I'm aiming for *eventually*
> 
> next chapter: research and religion


	3. Temporarily Embarrassed Millionaires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > John Steinbeck once said that socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as **temporarily embarrassed millionaires**. 
> 
> \- Ronald Wright, _A Short History of Progress_

If she tried very hard, Marasi could almost pretend she didn’t feel out of place. 

The dining car of their train was lushly appointed; rich, tasteful decor, comfortable seats, dim lighting. It wouldn’t have felt out of place at a fancy 4th Octant restaurant - the slight rattling underfoot and the scenery through the windows were the only signs of being in motion. 

The occupants were similarly classy - dressed to a one in formalwear that flaunted their wealth through its materials and quality as much as its extravagance. The servers (servers! On a _train!_ ) wore bowties, the glasses were crystal, the food was haute cuisine.

And Marasi was... also there.

It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ have fit in - she’d been to enough functions as Steris’s ‘cousin’ in order to get by, even if her dresses were a little less immaculate and her jewelry was glass. But even that still made her feel like an imposter. The only time she was anything close to comfortable at formal occasions was when she was in her constabulary uniform, her status as an officer of the law removing her from the sorting equation entirely. 

The outfit she’d settled on in the end, for this frustratingly ambiguous situation that was technically neither work nor free time, was a loose white blouse that buttoned at the sleeves, high-waisted, comfortable tan trousers with deep pockets, and a stiff wool peacoat coloured a rich dark blue. She was particularly fond of the coat - psychological studies had shown that wearing colours that were similar to or evocative of authority figures could subconsciously increase people’s regard of you, and it was a very similar colour to the constable’s uniform. 

It wasn’t that she _disliked_ wearing skirts and dresses. They were still nice to wear in her day-to-day - she enjoyed the _swish_ as she moved, and they were more flattering to her figure than trousers, which tended to make her look like an overgrown, lanky teenager. The practicality of pants, however, was impossible to deny, and she’d taken to wearing them whenever ‘on the job’, whether that be her official job with the constabulary or with Wax in a more unofficial capacity. Now, though, as she tried to ignore the odd glances she was getting, she found herself quite fervently wishing she’d worn a dress instead. 

Then again, the looks might have had more to do with the papers and photographs she’d spread out all over the table. 

The information VenDell had provided was somehow remarkably comprehensive and frustratingly vague at the same time. There were transcripts of the interviews with ReLuur, a sketch of the ‘monster’ he’d described, reconstructions of his journey before he had lost contact, analysis of the photograph he’d had with them, and so on, all in excruciating detail. But when it came to things like ReLuur’s missing spike or the Bands, the descriptions were simple and surface-level, missing the same exhausting analysis of the rest. No doubt they were wary of handing out information on Hemalurgy, even to someone unimportant like her, and understandably so. Thankfully, though, she had other sources she could fall back on.

Carrying things in her pockets had been something of an adjustment, as had been wearing a pistol outright instead of secreting it away in her bag, but she’d grown used to it, and now didn’t even have to think as she reached inside her jacket to retrieve a small, thin-leafed notebook. 

It was a reproduction of the book Ironeyes had given to Lord Waxillium - the Lord Mistborn’s personal journal and notes. Lord Lestibournes had written extensively on Hemalurgy - in often quite disturbing ways - and while very little had to do directly with its applications regarding kandra, it was enough of a primer to allow Marasi to fill in gaps in her knowledge, and in VenDell’s dossier. 

For a little while, she managed to find her rhythm, tuning out the clatter of plates and cutlery and the low murmurings of conversation around her. It was a dangerous alloy, that level of focus - she got her best work done with it, but would often forget to sleep, eat, or address other bodily functions.

Any chance of that happening this time, though, was quickly ended by a loud and raucous conversation that started up behind her. She was unsuccessful in trying to ignore it, and eventually gave up entirely, turning around to seek out the source.

Unsurprisingly, it was Wayne and MeLaan, chatting with a pair of patrons at the table behind her. While the couple seemed to be quite well-off, dressed in finery and comfortable in the luxuriant surroundings, the two of them looked distinctly out of place, albeit for different reasons. Wayne was, as always, wearing roughspun trousers and suspenders, with his ever-present bowler hat on his head. MeLaan, meanwhile, was still in the same body, but had changed her outfit for an ornate construction of lace and silk that tucked in painfully close at the hips; something Marasi would have expected to see at a ball a century ago, not on a train in the present day. For most women, a figure like that would have required extensive corsetry, but MeLaan had almost certainly just adjusted her body to fit, and the thought sent a hot pang of jealousy through Marasi. 

Wayne noticed her and gave a wave, nudging MeLaan with an elbow. Marasi sighed and nodded back, already accepting the inevitability of the distraction. 

To her surprise, though, it wasn’t just Wayne who ambled over to her table, but MeLaan as well. Before today, Marasi’s interactions with the kandra woman had been limited, and mostly goal-oriented, but now all of a sudden she seemed… interested in Marasi? She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but assumed it was pity after seeing her social life.

“Wotcher, Mara,” Wayne drawled, dropping himself into one of the chairs.

“Wayne, MeLaan,” she acknowledged. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh, absolutely,” MeLaan said, settling herself into the chair on the other side of Marasi from Wayne. “The rich are _fascinating._ They’re like the old nobles, but completely toothless. Like dogs are to wolves.”

“Knew a man what had a wolf once,” Wayne said casually. “Bugger nearly ripped his nuts off nearly every week, but he loved that damn thing.” He paused. “Right up until it ripped his nuts off, ‘course.”

MeLaan guffawed, and Marasi couldn’t stop a tiny smile from breaking through at the edges of her mouth. 

“I think if all the people in your stories actually existed,” she said, “the world would be a much more interesting place.”

“Why, Miss Colms! Are you accusin’ me of _lying?!_ ”

“Yes, Wayne. You lie _constantly_.”

He frowned. “I do?”

“ _Yes,_ Wayne.”

“He’s just trying to get your goat, Marasi,” MeLaan interjected.

“I-I knew that.”

Wayne grinned. “Guilty. So, you out here hiding from Wax?”

“I’m not _hiding_ from Wax,” Marasi protested, indignant.

“Hidin’, avoidin’, same metal.”

“I am not _avoiding_ him either, Wayne. Steris brought the house finances with her to review, and there’s not enough space in the cabin for us both to spread out. It’s as simple as that.”

MeLaan raised an eyebrow. “The house finances? As in, the finances for the _entirety_ of House Ladrian?”

“It’s Steris,” Marasi said. Really, that was answer enough on its own. 

“Don’t see why she had to come along,” Wayne grumbled, folding his arms and slouching in his chair. “Bringin’ the whole mood down.”

“Shockingly enough, I agree,” Marasi said. “ _Not_ that she’s ‘bringing the mood down’, but I _am_ worried for her safety.”

“Pfft,” Wayne snorted as he flagged down a waiter. “She’s practic’lly welded to Wax’s side now, he ain’t gonna let anything happen.”

“You wanted—” the waiter began.

“Liquor,” Wayne said.

“Would you care to be a little more specific, sir?”

“Lots of liquor.”

The waiter sighed, and glanced at Marasi.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” she said politely. She’d had quite enough for one day.

“Oh, and _no bubbly_ ,” Wayne insisted. 

“ _Yes_ bubbly for me, thank you,” MeLaan added. “Really, just bring lots of everything and we’ll sort it out.”

“You know, Wayne,” Marasi observed as the waiter scurried away, “for someone who’s always talking poorly about the rich, you can be quite inconsiderate towards the working class.”

“These blighters?” He scoffed. “They ain’t _workin’ class_ , Mara. They’re just suckin’ up to the rich folk instead of going out and findin’ honest work.”

“Wayne… you don’t have a job, and you live rent-free in Wax’s house. Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”

Wayne opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned. Then silently stood and walked away.

Marasi slowly turned to MeLaan, who was attempting to keep a straight face and doing quite poorly.

“Every time I think I’ve begun to understand him...” 

“Oh, I think you’ve got a pretty good handle on it,” MeLaan said, grinning.

The waiter reappeared with a selection of drinks, and a relieved expression upon his face at Wayne’s absence. He had also brought Marasi some water, which she was very grateful for.

“So,” MeLaan asked, sipping at her champagne as she looked over Marasi’s papers, “what’s all this, then?”

“The papers VenDell gave me, plus some of my own notes from home.” A thought occurred to her, and she shuffled through a few pages to find the drawing she had been looking at earlier.

“MeLaan,” she asked, sliding the sketch over to her, “would you be able to look like this? Er- would a kandra, I mean.”

MeLaan waved off the gaffe, leaning in closer. “Can’t see why not,” she mused, inspecting the drawing. The pose put her cleavage on display, and Marasi awkwardly looked away. “Might need some structural support for the horns though. And black eyes are tricky, cause either you make the whole thing pupil and then you’re really sensitive to light, or you colour the rest of the eye black, which is really tricky to get right with eye-jelly.”

“The sclera?” Marasi asked. “Or the vitreous humours?”

MeLaan blinked. “...the sclera, yeah. Surprisingly hard to get a convincing black without messing up the structure of the collagen. I _guess_ you could just do a larger pupil like a dog’s eye…?”

“It was only a hypothetical,” Marasi said hastily, before she got too in-depth. “But a kandra _could_ adopt an appearance like this?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” MeLaan frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Just… attempting to establish some hypotheses.”

Marasi could see the moment she connected the dots. “You think a rogue kandra did this? _Another_ one?” MeLaan sighed, rubbing her forehead dramatically. “I thought we _just_ did this.”

“Yes, well,” Marasi said wryly, “I don’t think Trell or The Set particularly care about originality.”

“Despicable.” She drained her champagne and burped. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but Harmony hasn’t mentioned any rogue kandra. When Paalm disappeared, we knew about it pretty much instantly.”

“You said it yourself,” Marasi countered, “Harmony’s distracted. And if Paalm was invisible to Harmony with only one spike, who knows what else the Set might be able to achieve with more experimentation.”

“...rusts.” MeLaan looked seriously worried now. “I’ll ask Harmony about it, first chance I get it.”

Marasi felt the need to reassure her - seeing MeLaan without her usual _mien_ was disconcerting in a way she hadn’t really felt before. “It’s only one hypothesis, at least - this could be any other number of things. For example…”

She slid the paper back over to her side of the table, and placed another sketch next to it for comparison.

“The other place my mind keeps going back to is the Hemalurgic creatures Lord Waxillium said he faced, with TenSoon.”

MeLaan frowned. “Oh, yeah. Ugly blighters, those things. We’re still not entirely sure how she did that with one spike alone, to be honest.”

“‘We’?” Marasi asked.

“Well, not me _specifically_ , but those of us who do that sort of thing. VenDell is usually in that crowd, actually, but this Bands thing has been burning his metals something fierce for a little while now.”

“I can’t deny that I understand that,” Marasi admitted, idly swirling her pencil in the margins of her notes. “This Trell business… it’s _new_ , but it’s not a discovery. It’s a matter of safety, maybe even of survival. But the Bands of Mourning, the lost secrets of the Lord Ruler… that’s _exciting_. Not just preserving our society, but actually _improving_ it.”

When she glanced up, she found MeLaan looking at her with something odd in her eyes. “You really believe that?”

Marasi sighed. “I’d like to. But if history has shown us anything, it’s that new discoveries aren’t enough to fix social issues on their own. It just…” She trailed off, her brain catching up to her mouth.

MeLaan’s face was carefully neutral.

“...I just tried to explain history to a Faceless Immortal, didn’t I?” Marasi whispered, horrified. 

“No, no,” MeLaan said, a grin breaking through her facade, “please, continue. Tell me more about societal changes over time.”

Marasi slumped down on the table, hiding her burning red face in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I get excited and I speak without thinking.”

“Nothing to apologise for,” MeLaan said easily. “Never a bad thing, to want to share information in good faith. ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m a sociologist or anything. I’ve watched it happen but that don’t make me an expert, any more than being Metalborn makes you a metallurgist.”

“I’m hardly an expert either,” Marasi admitted ruefully. “A hobbyist, at best, and I only got interested in the first place because I was obsessed with lawman mythology.”

“Hey, we’ve all got our old shames. I once spent half a century calling myself a mistwraith out of misplaced teenage angst.”

Marasi laughed, lifting her head from the table. MeLaan was grinning down at her, and the sparkle in her eyes sent an odd flutter through her stomach.

“Um,” Marasi said, realising that she’d been staring for entirely too long and hastily averting her gaze, “I should probably… go. To bed. To sleep!”

She started hastily gathering her papers up, flushing furiously. MeLaan reached over to help, and if she noticed the way Marasi flinched away from any possible contact, she didn’t comment on it.

As she was shuffling the papers together, something fell out, bouncing off the table and into Marasi’s lap. When she picked it up, it turned out to be a small velvet bag containing…

Marasi sighed.

“What is it?” MeLaan asked. 

Wordlessly, Marasi held out her hand to show her the small Pathian earring, and the note in VenDell’s neat hand that read “ _Just in case, Waxillium.”._

“Ah.” MeLaan winced. “Well.”

“If you attempt to defend him,” Marasi said mildly, “I will be quite cross with you.”

“Noted.” She sighed. “Tact has never been a strong suit of VenDell’s, but this is egregious even for him.”

“I seem to recall _him_ criticising _you_ for a lack of tact, no?”

“We… disagree on the exact definition, yes. Tactfully, of course.”

Marasi snorted as she gathered up her papers. “Lovely.” After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the earring from the table. “I suppose I should give this to Lord Waxillium, then.”

She went to stand, but found herself stopped by a light, careful touch on her forearm.

“I can do it, if you like,” MeLaan offered, tone deceptively casual. 

Marasi was inexplicably hyperaware of the contact, even through the stiff fabric of her coat. “Thank you,” she said, “but I’m fine.”

MeLaan’s touch seemed to linger as she made her way back through the train towards their carriages, warm and almost tingly. The next car over was first-class, with a row of private rooms on one side. Marasi passed electric lights glowing on the walls as she crossed the car. Last time she’d been on a train, those had been gas, with bright, steady mantles. She liked progress, but these seemed much less reliable—they’d waver when the train slowed, for example.

She crossed to the final car, passing the door to her own room and moving towards where Waxillium and Steris were taking dinner, but paused halfway. The velvet bag was still clenched tight in her hand, and she stared down at her whiteknuckled grip. 

_I’ll give it to him later_ , she decided. _When I’m less… when I’m less tired._

She turned around and walked back to her door, first of those in their car, and glanced out the front window toward the rest of the train, which she was surprised to see moving off into the distance. She gaped for a moment, and then the door at the other end of the car burst open, and a man stepped through and levelled a gun at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to try for weekly updates on tuesdays now, and hopefully establish a buffer, but no promises.  
> I know it's been mostly talky chapters with lots of extemporising so far, but fear not - next chapter is more action-y, and should hopefully be a little more actively gay.  
> speaking of the next chapter, though, i'm actually going to try and get the prologue one-shot up before it, because there's one or two concepts that are easier to introduce there than in this story for the sake of flow. depending on how the writing goes, it'll either be up *before* next week's update, or *as* next week's update, so definitely subscribe to the series if you don't want to miss that.
> 
> notes:
> 
> \- i know in canon marasi is fairly solidly noble like steris but i think its more interesting if as an illegitimate child she feels like an outsider both there and in other spheres of her life, and i really dislike how sanderson brushed over her abuse. she's not *friendless* she's *isolated*, in part due to her friendship with Wax even if she doesnt realise it.  
> \- i also really don't want marasi's character to be 'oh you can only be masculine to be a hero and be effective'; i like the *idea* sanderson was trying for with her, but he beefed the execution pretty bad. marasi is definitely still a feminine person, but it makes *no* sense for someone who regularly runs around getting in gunfights and other scrapes to be wearing skirts and dresses in those situations. also scadrian society in general is way more sexist than sanderson probably intended it to be, which we'll be getting into more later, but the main point was - marasi colms femme lesbian will blow your head off and look good doing it  
> \- wayne is a class traitor and will be first against the wall when the revolution comes


	4. To The Sound of Trumpets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and **to the sound of trumpets**.” 
> 
> \- Voltaire, _Rights_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'what's Valediction' its a fancy gun. if you want the details they're in chapter 1 of Tailings cause it messed with the flow to include them here.  
> also yes the projected chapter count is now 18 instead of 10 cause i vastly underestimated the first time, what of it

Marasi burned cadmium, and four things happened in rapid succession. 

First, her metal burned bright and warm in her stomach, the characteristic shimmer of a time bubble forming in the air just in front of the man.

Second, so fast she almost missed it, her metal winked out, and the shimmer disappeared. 

Third, the train car gave a sudden jolt, as if it had hit some slight obstruction on the tracks.

And fourth, the man was thrown off-balance as he fired, and the bullet slammed into the ceiling of the train in a shower of splinters.

Marasi had been staggered as well, but she’d had a wall to catch herself against where the gunman had not, and so when he recovered his balance and raised his gun, he found that Marasi had gotten there first.

Marasi couldn’t shoot like Wax did. 

_No-one_ could shoot like Wax did. The only person who even came close was Nanessa “Silvereye” LaRue, and her powers of allomantic tin and feruchemical zinc were so infamously potent that they’d named the Twinborn combination after her. For everyone else, the shots Waxillium made weren’t simply the pinnacle of skill, but outright impossibilities. No amount of training would ever let an average person make tineyed shots one-handed while flying through the air, or shoot a bullet with another bullet to alter its trajectory. When it came to firearms, the man was something beyond human ken - the Dawnshot god of gunpowder and steel.

She would never aspire to that, _could_ never aspire to that.

But within the limits of human possibility, Marasi Colms was a _damn_ good shot. 

She breathed out as she squeezed the trigger on her revolver, and the bullet hit the gunman square in the centre of mass. He jerked back, eyes going wide, and then there was the sound of crunching wood behind her, and another bullet screamed past her ear to burn a neat hole in his forehead.

Marasi turned to find Wax standing behind her, smoke still curling from Vindication’s barrel. She could see Steris’s head poking out of the doorway behind him - not the wisest thing in a gunfight, but it had been over so fast that Steris might not even have realised it was happening yet.

“Thanks,” she said, holstering her own revolver. 

Wax nodded acknowledgement. “Get your sister behind some cover.” He jogged past her towards the platform at the end of the train.

“Well,” Steris said, miffed, “I rather think I can find my own cover.”

“I’m sure,” Marasi assured her, bending to pick up her folder from where she’d dropped it. “Can you get all the staff into one compartment? I’ll be back in a moment.”

As the train began to jolt and speed up, she ducked back into her own room, stuffing her notes into one of her bags, then shed her coat, quickly putting her hair back with a small cord and tying a scarf around her neck. She pulled down Valediction’s case from the luggage rack and set about arming herself, clipping the gunbelt inside around her waist and locking the two pieces of the strange rifle together.

She hadn’t had to use Ranette’s prototype in a gunfight yet, in the three-odd months since she’d initially agreed to test it. She’d taken it to the range a few times, though, so it wasn’t completely unfamiliar - hopefully it wouldn’t choose now to finally act up.

The car jolted one last time as she stepped out into the corridor, followed by a loud, metallic _clunk_. A glance down the corridor told her that they’d just reattached to the main body of the train - Wax’s work, no doubt. 

Sure enough, the man himself was striding down the corridor towards her, expression grim. He did a bit of a double-take upon seeing her, but didn’t comment, as she followed him to the servant’s compartment.

“Robbery,” he said as he threw open the door. Marasi glanced in around him to see most of the staff sitting on the floor, and Steris on a built-in chair, holding a book in her hands.

“Robbers?” Steris asked, sounding faintly amused. “Really, Lord Waxillium, _must_ you bring your hobbies with your hobbies with you wherever we go?”

Marasi suppressed a chuckle.

“They’re going after the rest of the train,” Wax said, pointing. “The first thieves must have recognized this car as a private one, probably lush with riches to plunder, and so they uncoupled it. But something is wrong.”

“Other than people trying to kill us?” Marasi asked.

“No,” Steris said, “in my experience, that’s quite normal.”

“What’s _wrong_ ,” Wax said, “is that they’re riding horses.”

Marasi blinked. “But- that’s _ridiculous._ No one _actually_ robs trains on horseback unless they’re in a chapbook. Or trying to imitate one, I suppose?”

“They’re new to this,” Wax confirmed grimly. “I need you all to stay here, keep quiet and keep your heads down. Lock the door, if it can. If someone finds you anyway, just cooperate and don’t make any fuss.” He turned back to her. “Marasi, have you seen Wayne? Or MeLaan, for that matter.”

He started walking back towards his and Steris’s room, and she followed along as he stepped inside and pulled out his own gun case, considerably more varied than her own.

“They were both in the dining compartment about ten minutes ago.”

“Wayne'll be fighting already, most likely. If you see him, let him know I’m going to hit the front of the train, then sweep backward.”

She nodded, watching him belt various guns and pouches on. “Going over the top?”

“Am I that predictable?” 

“Not to anyone who doesn’t know you. Prediction is a bit of a specialty of mine, remember.”

He chuckled, but the humour fled as quickly as it had come. “Be careful, Marasi. This feels off, and I don’t like it.”

“Mm. Did you see if any others were wearing masks?”

He shook his head, confirming her suspicions. “They’re either desperate…”

“...or it’s a setup,” she finished. “Well, drat. Fifty clips that they’re here for you?”

The window tore itself out of its frame and flew off into the distance.

“I’ll take that bet,” Wax said, then threw himself out the hole, disappearing upwards on a Push.

Marasi sighed. There was a perfectly good ladder at the end of the car. 

The next car had a small compartment with a door before the main section, and Marasi ducked low as she moved up against it, before peering over the lip and through the small window built into it. She could see some of the bandits moving in and out of compartments, some pocketing valuables as they reappeared. At a rough, guess there were maybe five or six - and obviously a larger number of civilians, now potential hostages. Too many for her to deal with on her own, and too much risk.

Instead, she crouched back down, and loaded a dark green shell into Valediction’s second chamber, then pulled her scarf tightly up over her mouth and nose.

“Sorry,” she whispered, then stood up, smashed the end of Valediction’s barrel through the glass and fired the Choker round into the compartment beyond.

With a rough _bark_ , a plume of thick green smoke emerged, filling the corridor and quickly spreading as cries of alarm went up from the bandits. 

Marasi took a step back from the door and threw up a small cadmium bubble around herself, leaving it up for just long enough for the gas to spread and start to disperse before dropping it again. The boundary of the bubble didn’t stop the gas entirely, but it was a much smaller amount that made it through, and her scarf protected her from the worst of that much. 

(Strangely, the bubble didn’t immediately pop like the previous one had, and after a moment’s thought, she realised that the larger bubble she’d made on instinct the first time had likely intersected with the ground and been popped that way).

She stepped through into the main compartment, finding the bandits laid out on the floor and moaning pitifully. Ordinarily, she’d feel bad, having experienced first-hand the unpleasant symptoms that Ranette’s hazekillers caused, but under the circumstances she couldn’t find much sympathy. 

The passengers, on the other hand, deserved no such thing. Marasi went to each compartment one by one, gathering up the fallen firearms and tossing them most of them out the windows as she did, until she found a large pitcher of water in one room. Once she’d gotten the first few passengers cleaned up, the water neutralising the worst of the gas’s effects, she had them go around and do the same to the others while she dragged the bandits to a single compartment and cuffed them together. 

After the first two, enough passengers had recovered that a few stepped up to help her, making the rest considerably easier. 

“Thank you,” she said to them after the last of the bandits had been cuffed. “And my apologies about the gas, I know it must have been unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” one man demanded, stepping forward. “I’d like to see you-”

Another man stopped him with an arm across the chest. “Ma’am,” he said to Marasi, “I think most of us can safely say it was preferable to being shot.”

Marasi nodded to him gratefully. It was a nice reminder that not _all_ rich people were ungrateful, entitled bastards.

Just… most.

None of them the passengers had seen anything of Wayne or MeLaan, but two of them claimed to have some proficiency with firearms. Marasi gave them the rifles she hadn’t tossed out the windows and sent the whole group back towards Steris and the staff, telling them to give Marasi's name as a form of identification. 

Thankfully, the next car was clear of bandits - evidently, the group she’d encountered had been moving through towards the back of the train. She sent them back as well; she was still bereft of any useful information or sightings of the others, but she’d been lucky with the lack of more bandits in the car.

So, of course, her luck ran out almost immediately. 

The dining cars were up next - the cargo cars being inexplicably placed at the front of this train rather than the back. Marasi could see movement through the small window, but when she took a closer, careful look, she found not a pack of bandits, but only three - and a room full of passengers.

She crouched back down, uttering a curse she would deny knowing under any other circumstances. Her previous plan wouldn’t work again - the dining car was longer and more open than the passenger cars. Without the narrow corridor and the enclosed spaces, she didn’t feel confident that the gas would be effective enough to incapacitate the bandits before they could react. 

In lieu of any better ideas, she took another quick look. These bandits weren’t collecting valuables, either, but seemed to specifically be standing guard; sweeping their gazes across the doors and windows. The latter part felt like vindication of her theory that they were here at least in part for Wax - or at the very least another Coinshot, but the simplest answer was usually the best one. 

Of course, that didn’t actually help her current situation any. She ducked back down for a few seconds as one of their gazes swept towards her, making sure everything was loaded and functioning. She felt confident she could take down two of them before they could react… well, confident _enough._ Three, though, she wasn’t willing to stake people’s lives on. 

Thankfully, the Survivor smiled on her for once. She was pinning down the locations of the three in her mind when one of the passengers nearby one of them turned her head. It was MeLaan, face drawn into an extremely convincing expression of fear. Out of sight to the bandits, though, Marasi could see her hand hanging limp at the wrist, and a sharp spike jutting out. 

As if sensing her gaze, MeLaan made eye contact with her, and although her mask of fear didn’t shift, her eye twitched in a flicker of a wink. 

Marasi nodded back to her. That handled the third. 

_Survivor,_ she thought, _guide my hand._

_Help me not screw this up._

Then she readied Valediction, and slid the door open.

_Breathe out._

Every head in the room spun to her, bandits and passengers alike, but she was already squeezing the trigger, and her shot took the first bandit square in the chest before they even had time to react.

_Breathe in._

She cleared the chamber as she swept her aim across the room to the second bandit, the spent shell spinning through the air. MeLaan had already grabbed the one in the middle, her spike buried in their throat, but they hadn’t quite fallen yet, and in their dying gasps, they managed to fire off a single shot-

-straight into MeLaan’s chest.

Marasi’s heart stopped in her chest, and she faltered, for just a second. She knew the kandra had nothing to fear from a bullet - it had just been the instinctual reaction to a gunshot hitting home.

It was still a second too long.

Before she could line up her shot again, the remaining bandit grabbed a passenger by the arm and pulled him close, shoving his gun up against his head.

“Don’t move!” the bandit shouted. “One step and I’ll-”

Marasi shot him in the head.

The room filled with screams as the bandit’s corpse dropped to the floor, blood pooling around it. Marasi took a shaky breath as she cleared Valediction’s chamber again, feeling somewhat numb. She’d reacted on pure instinct alone, and a person was dead because of it.

“You reckless idiot!” She turned slightly to see another passenger stalking up to her, waving a finger about. “You could have hit Jeffods, for god’s sake!”

“Statistics… statistics say…” All of a sudden, she found that she just couldn’t be bothered. “Shut up.”

“Huh?”

“Shut. _Up._ ” 

She stalked forward, clutching Valediction in white-knuckled hands, leaving the sputtering man behind her. She had always been told that opinions weren’t enough, that no-one would listen to her if she didn’t have facts and evidence on her side, so she went and she _found_ evidence, and _still_ no-one listened to her anyway. So why even bother? Right then, it seemed like the most unimportant thing in the world.

MeLaan turned to her as she approached, and Marasi was relieved to see pink, unbroken flesh through the bullet hole in her dress.

“Nice shooting, tineye,” MeLaan said, reattaching her hand over the spike. 

“Thanks,” Marasi said, trying not to think about it.

“So, who are we killing today? Do we know?”

She quickly brought MeLaan up to speed on Wax’s plan. “Wax thought Wayne would still be here with you, actually.”

“He left just after you did. Went up towards the front of the train.” 

“Blast.” 

Marasi could feel herself coming down from the adrenaline rush, so she walked over to a table that still had a wine bucket and carefully removed the bottles, placing them on the table. 

“Can anyone still see me?” she asked MeLaan, crouching down on the opposite side of the table.

“...no, no-one.”

“Good,” Marasi said, then leant over the bucket and puked her guts out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i discovered while writing this chapter: survivorism is canonically homophobic!  
> which is.  
> cool.  
> so i guess we're going to have to work that in cause marasi seems reasonably devout in canon. if only i was a catholic so i could more truly write the guilt. 
> 
> notes:  
> -  
> \- kept the 'shut up' moment fairly intact, because im actually kind of fond of it - its closer to the marasi characterisation i enjoy  
> \- theres WoB that 'the size and shape of bubbles is controllable to a greater degree than shown in canon', so i'm running with that - if marasi uses it for things like waiting for plays, i assume she has to be able to make a bubble small enough for just herself, or at least close to. and on the other hand we've seen her make a bubble the size of a warehouse in AoL so im inclined to think that 1. cadmium has a greater degree of flexibility in size than bendalloy does, 2. bendalloy bubbles can be manipulated, but wayne never bothers or doesnt know how.  
> \- yes i made up Silvereye LaRue. the name comes from the original draft of mistborn, where it was silver instead of tin. feruchemical zinc, if you dont recall, is mental speed, so combined with tin's enhanced senses and you have some deadshot shit. maybe she'll show up some day, who knows.  
> \- it's me. i knows.  
> \- yes, im aware marasi has killed people before. thats not why she's vomiting.


	5. A Sense Of Insupportable Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from **a sense of insupportable loneliness** and a dread of some strange impending doom.” 
> 
> \- Edgar Allen Poe, unconfirmed 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check it out: chapter titles! they're all very pretentious, cause shame is dead.

“Here, found this on a table.”

Marasi gratefully took the bread roll from MeLaan, taking a large bite out of it. “Fank ou,” she said as she chewed.

“You feeling better now?” MeLaan asked cautiously.

Marasi waved a hand as she swallowed. “Fine. Just had to get it out.” 

Truthfully, she still wasn’t feeling particularly pleasant, but after a short bit of dry-retching her nausea had settled, if only because there was nothing left to bring back up. 

It wasn’t that she’d killed - although Survivor knows she still _hated_ that. If someone had to die, then society had already failed. Marasi hadn’t had time to grow numb to the killing like Wax and Wayne had - and she dearly hoped she never would - nor did she have her sister’s strange distance from these things.

No, it was the fact that she’d killed someone on _instinct._

Without deliberation, without preparation or conscious thought, she’d wiped a life off the face of the earth. And she’d made her peace with killing in self-defence, or in the defence of others, but becoming the sort of person who had reached for it on _instinct…_

Well, suffice to say that ‘nauseated’ was putting lightly.

Marasi wiped up the back of her mouth with a discarded napkin, then poured a bit of water on her hands and wiped them off. The bread had helped lessen the awful burn at the back of her mouth, but she could still feel it lower in her oesophagus. She scowled and took a swig of bubbly wine.

While she’d been… _indisposed,_ MeLaan had obviously instructed the passengers to leave - Marasi could see the last few of them disappearing through the back door. That was a relief - one less thing to worry about. With the bandits, and Steris, and Wayne, she already had enough on her plate.

The thought of Wayne jogged her memory, and she crouched to pick the bucket up off the floor and placed it on a table.

“...Marasi?” MeLaan asked cautiously. “...why are you _picking up_ the bucket full of _vomit?_ ”

“Just a second, sorry.” She pulled her scarf back up over her mouth and nose, then, using two forks from the table, she began digging around in the bucket.

“Harmony’s _balls_ ,” MeLaan said, gagging. “Seriously, what are you _doing?!_ ”

Marasi found what she was looking for and carefully lifted it between the two forks. It was a small bead about the size of a marble, coloured a chalky pale yellow. 

“Looking for this,” she answered, dunking it in a glass of water to clean it off.

“So you’re a dog now? Searching through your own-” MeLaan covered her mouth, looking nauseated. “Nope. Nuh-uh. I can’t do this.” She turned and stood a few meters away, taking very deep and very loud breaths. 

Marasi found the squeamishness oddly endearing, coming from someone who had minutes ago torn off her own hand in order to stab someone. 

Once she was sure the bead was clean, she picked it out of the glass and swallowed it with a swig of water. Like always, the coating left a chalky texture on the back of her mouth and throat, and she grimaced.

“Marasi,” MeLaan asked, “did I _really_ just watch you pick something out of your own vomit and then _swallow_ it? Please tell me I didn’t.”

“We can’t all have an endless supply of steel and whiskey in little vials, MeLaan. Cadmium is expensive, and I’d really prefer not to waste it.”

“That was _cadmium_?! It looked like... a ball of _chalk_.”

“Mm. Cadmium is highly toxic to humans, you know - if you swallow flakes and don’t burn them within a few minutes, you'll make yourself extremely ill in a week or two. This coating dissolves very slowly in stomach acid, so you can swallow it without having to burn it immediately. Some metal shops coat it in a safe metal instead, but I’ve always found that to be… unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant in what w…” MeLaan’s face went green. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

Wordlessly, MeLaan picked up a discarded glass of champagne and slammed it. “Marasi? No offence? Your allomancy is _awful_.”

Despite herself, Marasi flinched. 

“...so I’ve been told,” she said after a second. “We should keep moving, try and find Wayne. Knowing him, he’s probably befriended half the bandits and stolen the other half’s wallets.”

“I’m not so sure,” MeLaan said. “After all, none of them are wearing hats.”

Marasi gave a rather unladylike snort before catching herself. “Quite.” She glanced down at MeLaan’s bulky, ornate dress. “Do you need to change?”

“Nah,” MeLaan said, waving a hand. 

Then, with the sound of tearing fabric, she ripped the skirts of her dress clean off and tossed them aside.

“Wh- _MeLaan!_ ” Hastily, Marasi averted her eyes, but the image of MeLaan’s legs, long and soft and curved, seemed burned into her eyelids. “Do you have _no_ modesty at all?”

“Sometimes-” fabric rustled and MeLaan grunted, “-I think you forget that I’m essentially a sentient pile of goop.”

“Well, yes,” Marasi acknowledged, “but I still think-” There was more rustling. “Are you _stealing_ that man’s _pants?!_ ”

“Technically, I’m _looting_ his pants. It’s only stealing if they’re alive.”

“That is _not_ the part I took issue with,” Marasi huffed, “and you know it.”

“What’s the big deal, Mara?” She grunted again, hopping on one foot. “Ain’t much use for pants Beyond, and I thought you didn’t want to look at me all _deshabille._ Make up your mind, I say.”

“I don’t- but that’s not the _point_ -” She gave up with a sigh. “...see if he has anything in his pockets.”

“Yes, ma’am,” MeLaan said, more than a little smug. 

The next car was also for dining, identical to the previous in all but minor details. This one, however, was deserted, save for one passenger standing calmly at the far end, cane in hand, blocking the passage.

Marasi went to move forward, but MeLaan stopped her with an outstretched arm.

“I don’t like this,” MeLaan muttered under her breath. “Be careful.”

“Sir?” Marasi called down the car. “Are you okay? This carriage isn’t safe, you need to move down towards the back of the train.”

He turned toward them with raised eyebrows. “I am always inclined to obey the wishes of pretty women such as yourselves,” he said. She could see that he kept one hand stiff at his side, fingers closed as if clutching something. “But what of you ladies? Is there no danger to you?”

Marasi had no interest in being condescended to at the best of times. “Thankfully,” she said, gesturing towards Valediction, “I don’t just carry this around as a fashion statement.” MeLaan was right, something felt off.

“Indeed!” the man said. “You look quite capable. Quite capable indeed.” He leaned in. “But what of your companion? Is she more than she appears, perhaps? A Metalborn?”

“Shoot him,” MeLaan said quietly. “Right now.”

“I’m not going to _shoot_ someone based on a gut feeling,” Marasi hissed back out of the corner of her mouth. “Sir,” she said louder, addressing the man, “I _really_ need to insist that you move back down the train.”

The man smiled at them. “Of course, of course. But first-”

He abruptly raised his hand, and even as Marasi brought Valediction up, she knew she wasn’t going to make it in time. So instead, she burned cadmium, attempting to cast the edge of a bubble between them and deflect his shot - forgetting, of course, what had happened the last time she’d done the same. 

The train car lurched as the bubble appeared and was instantly popped, throwing all three of them to the ground. Something metal clattered across the ground, and as Marasi clambered to her feet, she saw that a small object had fallen out of the stranger’s hand, rather than the firearm she’d been expecting. 

The stranger was awkwardly hauling himself up on his cane. He shot a panicked look towards the object, then up towards Marasi, before turning and hobbling quickly out of the carriage.

“Well, that was bizarre,” MeLaan complained, getting to her feet. “Told you to just shoot him.”

“Just because you happened to be right, doesn’t mean it was a moral decision at the time.”

“I didn’t _happen_ to be anything. I trusted my gut, and the six hundred years of subconscious behavioural intuition it’s working off of.”

“I…” _Well, darn._ “...I apologise for not listening to your gut, then.”

“Darn tootin’.”

Carefully, Marasi approached the object that the stranger had dropped. Rather than a grenade like she’d thought, it turned out to be a small cube the size of a lemon, with strange symbols carved into the surface.

“What is it?” MeLaan asked.

Marasi held it up for her inspection. “Haven’t the slightest. You?”

“It seems to be… a cube. Made of metal.”

Marasi sighed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” MeLaan winked at her, and she got that same uncomfortable, tense feeling as before. 

Gunshots rang out from up ahead, interrupting the strange atmosphere. “That’d be Wax,” Marasi said quickly, glad for the distraction. “Come on.”

The first cargo car only had two bandits in it - MeLaan choked one out, while Marasi bashed the other on the back of the head with Valediction’s stock and cuffed him to a grille. They stepped out into the gap between the car and the next, and three bandits standing around a large box of dynamite spun on them, guns already raised. 

They stared at each other in a moment of frozen silence. Then, before either party could react, three gunshots sounded out in rapid succession, and Wax dropped in from above them as the bandits fell limp, neat holes drilled in their foreheads

“Ladies,” he said. “Where’s Wayne?”

Marasi frowned. “We were hoping he was with you, to be honest.”

“Drat.” He stepped up to the bomb.

“MeLaan said he left the dining car before-” Marasi began to explain, but with an ear-splitting shriek, the device tore itself free of its restraints and flew off into the river, the detonator remaining behind in Wax’s hand. 

“-the bandits arrived,” she finished, watching the splash as the bomb impacted. “Honestly, Wax. Think of the fish.”

“...I’ll make sure to tell them to send someone,” he said, chastised.

He went to toss the detonator over the side as well, but it was suddenly ripped free of his hand, along with the pistol he was carrying. Valediction was only saved from the same fight by the strap around Marasi’s torso, but she was still pulled forward by the Push. MeLaan caught her and stopped her from falling, and after a second, the Push ceased, sending her stumbling forward into the wall of the next car. 

She clumsily spun around just in time to see a bullet swerve away from a woman standing on top of the car, the crack of a gun near her ear a good clue as to who had fired it. 

“Coinshot!” Wax called out, rather unnecessarily. He fired again, three times, and all three swerved away again. Marasi had already dropped low to the ground, but judging by the curse that followed soon after, Wax had lost the gun he’d been using. 

Marasi didn’t even want to think about Ranette’s reaction if she lost Valediction the same way. While the Coinshot was distracted, she slung the rifle around onto her back and cinched the strap tight so there was no room for it to move away. Just in time, too - an instant later, she felt another Push. This time, though, the entirety of her bodyweight was against it, and as she was pushed downwards, the Coinshot stumbled backward in equal measure. Before she could recover, MeLaan darted up the side of the car with inhuman, sinuous grace, pulling herself up onto the roof and taking the Coinshot’s legs out from underneath her in one smooth motion. The next few moments were obscured from view, but when MeLaan reappeared with one wrist spike covered in blood, it didn’t take genius to extrapolate what had happened.

“I can see the rest!” she called down over the wind.

Marasi glanced at Wax, who nodded, then took her business-like around the waist and Pushed them both up to the roof. 

Sure enough, there were about a dozen bandits a bit further down the train rough, all armed. Fortunately, the group was busy throwing one of their members off the train.

Marasi blinked. But that was indeed what they were doing—they tossed one of the bandits overboard. It was the man with the cane, she realised, who hit the water beside the train with a splash. 

“Rusts,” Wax cursed. “We’re almost at Ironstad; we can’t let them get away now.”

“If you can shoot to disable at seventy yards, be my guest,” Marasi said.

Wax glanced down at her. “What if we did Green Tomato?”

“ _Green_ Tomato? I thought it was _Spoiled_ -” She connected the dots. “Oh. Oh, _no_.”

“Marasi.”

“ _Waxillium_.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” she huffed. “But you owe me.”

“I do,” he agreed. “MeLaan, can you hold her?”

“What?!” Marasi squawked, but MeLaan’s arms were already closing around her and pulling her close. 

“Sorry,” MeLaan said cheerfully. She was so close that Marasi could feel her breath on her ear every time she spoke. “Don’t know _what’s_ happening, but it sounds crazy and I love it.”

Marasi felt she should offer some kind of explanation, but she was currently too busy trying not to faint. MeLaan’s arms were warm and soft around her torso, and she could feel her… feel _her_ pressed up against her back. She felt burning hot, and yet the freezing shivers from MeLaan’s breath on her ear still ran down her spine.

While she palpitated, Wax braced against a raised section of the roof, then Pushed against Valediction. The gun, sandwiched between their bodies, was sent flying backwards, taking both of them along with it. They sailed in a short arc above the train, and hit the roof just in front of the bandits, of whom about half a dozen remained. MeLaan took the brunt of the impact, and Marasi continued forward, tumbling free of her arms. Her momentum carried her into the centre of the group, and they cursed and jumped back as she came to stop.

Marasi groaned, and lifted her head, just in time to see the business end of half a dozen guns pointed at her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said.

“Why not?” one of the bandits snarled.

Marasi smiled, and dropped the cadmium bubble she’d created as soon as she’d touched the roof. Lined up along the platform and on the balconies of adjacent houses, the Ironstad constables aimed their rifles at the bandits, outnumbering them by at least a factor of ten.

“Still need that explanation?” Marasi asked sweetly.

The bandits dropped their guns.

* * *

Marasi had just finished speaking to one of the constables when she saw Wax striding by, his face stony and unreadable.

“Excuse me,” she said, quickly breaking away from the constable to follow him. “Wax? What’s wrong?”

“Wayne still hasn’t shown up,” he said over his shoulder. His voice was steady, but Marasi could detect the undercurrent of fear.

She nodded, jogging a few steps to catch up with him. “I’ll start at this end of the train, you start at that one?”

He nodded curtly, then Pushed himself off the ground, sailing in short arcs towards the rear end of the train.

Marasi clambered into the engine car and began searching, checking inside compartments and underneath benches as she moved backwards. Wayne often liked to find unconventional places to hide, so hopefully he’d just gotten… stuck. Or was hiding.

She didn’t want to think about the alternative possibilities. Wayne was her… friend? Well, Wax was her friend, and Wayne was his friend, and she supposed that that made them friends, in a way? The point was, despite her irritation with him at times, she didn’t want to see him dead or wounded. If nothing else, the effect it would have… on…

She came to a slow stop, then dropped to the floor and placed her ear up to it. Sure enough, the faint sound she’d heard resolved itself into faint, very poor singing, vibrating up through the floor.

_Oh, rusts._

She rushed out of the train car and threw open the luggage compartments built into the side of the train one by one. On the fourth one, a dishevelled figure came rolling out in an avalanche of luggage, holding a dented bowler hat in one hand and a half-full bottle in the other.

“Wayne!” 

“Hrm?” the man in question mumbled, rolling his head up to look at her. “Oh, it’s Mara, ‘n some fuzzy shapes. Hullo Mara, hullo fuzzy shapes.” He held up his bottle. “Care for a swig?”

“Wayne,” Marasi snapped, “you- wait.” She snatched the bottle from his hand. “Wayne, this is _rubbing alcohol_! Were you _actually_ drinking this?”

“Burns good,” he said blearily. “S’fine. I can burn it off.”

“That’s not- We were _attacked_ , Wayne! Didn’t you hear the gunshots?!”

“It was _v_ _ery_ loud in there.”

Marasi threw up her hands in defeat. “I can’t deal with this.” She spotted Wax approaching, and pointed at him. “Your problem now. He’s your friend, you can deal with this.”

With that, she stalked away, muttering angrily. She could hear the two men’s voices behind her, but she didn’t make any effort to make out the words.

“Good ol’ Wayne.” 

“Survivor!” Marasi jumped, and spun around to find MeLaan suddenly walking alongside her. 

“Nope,” MeLaan said with a cheeky grin, “just me.” She was still wearing the same face, and the same dead man’s trousers, but she’d swapped out the ruins of her dress for an oversized men’s shirt that was stained with dried blood. Her hair was tousled and damp, and Marasi had to tear her eyes away from the droplets that rolled down her neck and over her collarbones.

“Can you _believe_ him?” she asked, fixing her gaze straight ahead. “We were fighting for our lives, and he was getting _drunk_ in a _luggage car._ How did he even get in there?!”

“Not to reason for Ruin, but it wasn’t as if he could have _known_ we’d get attacked.”

Marasi fixed her with a flat stare, before remembering and hastily averting her eyes again. “It’s _us_ , MeLaan. If _Steris_ can anticipate some kind of violence, then Wayne has no excuse.”

“...suppose I can’t really argue with that. Guess I just feel a bit... responsible, I suppose. 

“Why would _you_ feel responsible? Drinking himself into a stupor is on his shoulders alone.”

“Well, yeah,” she sighed, “but I was going to ask if he wanted to have sex, and now I kinda feel like if I had, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten wasted instead.”

“I don’t think blaming yourself for that is-”

Marasi’s brain finally processed what MeLaan had said.

She missed a step, nearly falling flat on her face. “You _what?!”_ she squawked.

“I was going to ask if he wanted to have sex,” MeLaan repeated guilelessly. “You know, quick tumble, get his mind off his woes, a bit of fun for me.” She frowned. “You… _do_ know what sex is, right?”

“ _Of course I know what sex is!_ ” Marasi half-shouted, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “That _wasn’t_ what I was surprised at!” she hissed at a lower volume. 

“Oh, cause I’m a kandra, right? We can have sex, yeah. Wouldn’t be very good infiltrators if we couldn’t.” She reached for the zipper of her looted pants. “Want to see?”

“ _No!”_ Instinctively, she grabbed MeLaan’s wrist to stop her, then flinched away like she’d been burned. “I meant- _why?!_ ”

“...gonna hafta be more specific there, Mara.”

 _A hard thing to do when there’s so_ many _different generalities._ “Why… _him?!_ ”

MeLaan frowned, seeming confused. “I dunno. He’s kinda cute, in a bit of a rat way, and he seemed like he’d be enthusiastic, which is always nice. Sleeping with people who’ve got too high an opinion of themself is _no_ fun, let me tell you.”

“But he’s... _Wayne._ ” Marasi couldn’t explain the metal she was burning, but it was just so utterly inconceivable to her. “He’s so _extremely_ Wayne.”

“And?” MeLaan asked, cautious and tense now. “Why do you care so much?” 

_I don’t know._ “Have you _seen_ him?” Marasi said instead, trying to lighten the mood a little. “You can do so much better that it’s not- you don't need to sully yourself like that!”

MeLaan’s glare sharpened. “Last time I checked,” she said, rather icily, “my sex life isn’t yours to pass judgement on.” With that, she turned and stalked away.

“No- MeLaan, that wasn’t-” Marasi stammered, hurrying after her, but the other woman only picked up her pace, making it abundantly clear that their conversation was over.

She came to a stop, staring at MeLaan’s rapidly retreating form.

"...well done, Marasi” she muttered bitterly to herself. “You almost made a _friend_ there. Couldn’t be having that, could we.”

She turned and trudged off. They’d have to arrange alternative transport to New Seran, and organising that meant she wasn’t spending her time thinking about how royally she’d screwed it all up.

_Again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep to that Teen rating, and let me tell you, it was _sorely_ tempting to use my one "fuck" at the end of this chapter, but in the end I decided to exercise restraint. to be clear, i personally think frank but non-explicit mentions of sex are fine for teens - the bizarre western imbalance where gun violence is fine but the word 'sex' isnt has always been weird to me.  
> to be clear, this isnt just me dunking on wayne: i _am_ doing my best to give him a fair shake, and I have a specific arc in mind. the change of what was happening here was partially because of that, but partially because sanderson hooking him and MeLaan up left a foul taste in my mouth (and i hadn't even figured out i was a lesbian yet then). 
> 
> notes:  
> \- i'll burn your metals down! With the lemons!  
> \- i have brainworms that make me ignore canonically neurodivergent characters in favour of diagnosing others. steris is better than most examples of The Autistic Character, but i think marasi has a lot of potential as a late-diagnosis/"stealth" neurodivergent person  
> \- Cadmium is indeed super duper toxic! an even shittier addition to a shitty metal, as unlike feruchemy, there doesnt seem to be any indication that there are protections built in against that sort of thing. the tech levels of elendel are a bit all over the place, so i feel fairly safe in assuming that they're able to create a safe coating similar to what you might find on some medications today, especially given the societal prominence the metallic arts have.  
> \- i was going to complain about trying to keep all the names that start with M straight, but honestly 'Wax and Wayne / Marasi and MeLaan' has some nice symmetry to it.  
> \- the scene with the cube is, i think, emblematic of what im trying to do here apart from the romance. in the original book, the train literally just happens to jolt at the exact right time, and Marasi has no hand in getting the cube whatsoever, its literally just pure chance. its _agency_ really, that feels sorely lacking in her character.  
> \- Chapter Five: Marasi Does A Slut-Shaming


	6. The Great Enemy of Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > LET US RECAPITULATE A BIT: **The great enemy of communication** , we find, is the illusion of it. We have talked enough; but we have not listened. And by not listening we have failed to concede the immense complexity of our society–and thus the great gaps between ourselves and those with whom we seek understanding.
> 
> \- William H. Whyte, _Is Anybody Listening?_ (often misattributed to George Bernard Shaw) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS  
> we made an oopsy-woopsy! a widdle fucky-wucky!  
> (I accidentally hit post instead of edit on this one! so uh, have a day-early chapter i guess!)

The gondola ride up to their hotel was _unbearably_ awkward.

From Ironstad, they’d ended up hitching a ride on a cargo train (thanks to a combination of Marasi’s constabulary credentials and Lord Waxillium’s lordly pockets), loading into a car between crates of consumer goods and barrels of alcohol. After the evening’s excitement, Marasi had fallen asleep almost the instant her head had hit the sack of grain she was using as a pillow, and she’d slept like a log until they’d arrived in New Seran the next morning. 

Whereupon things had become significantly less bearable. 

MeLaan was acting normally when she awoke, bouncing around and making inane or… _lewd_ comments. She wasn’t _ignoring_ Marasi, exactly, but she never responded directly to her in conversation, and never addressed her of her own volition. It was startling, how much it threw Marasi off. MeLaan had only just started to really interact with her the previous day, but even before that she’d still been _around_ when they were all working a case, cracking wise and teasing. Pathetically, Marasi found she missed it already.

Their luggage was travelling by commercial gondola to the hotel, along with Waxillium and Steris’s house staff, while the five of them took the passenger gondolas that served as New Seran’s main form of public transportation. 

That was the plan, at any rate, but over the course of the first, relatively short, gondola ride, Wax had grown noticeably restless, and they’d barely stepped off the gondola before he’d suggested an Allomancy-powered shortcut.

She’d come very close to accepting Waxillium’s offer, even if she wasn’t entirely certain why he’d asked _her_ , but after seeing the obvious excitement in Steris’s eyes, her conscience wouldn’t let her do anything but suggest Wax take her instead. Watching them fly off into the distance, Wax holding her sister firmly against him as their clothes fluttered behind them, set something stirring inside Marasi. It wasn’t jealousy, she was able to tell that much, but she couldn’t pin down what it was beyond that. Didn’t want to, really. 

So she, MeLaan and Wayne were sitting in a gondola, in three separate corners, pointedly avoiding each other’s gazes. 

New Seran _was_ beautiful, and Marasi made a real effort to appreciate the sights as they went by. She’d read about the tiered waterfalls, of course, but seeing them in person was something else entirely. Mist of an entirely different kind to what they had in Elendel spilled over the edges of the canals, blanketing the city in a cool haze and glittering with rainbows where the sunlight refracted through it. 

Inevitably, though, her thoughts kept slipping back to the woman sitting opposite her.

(Or, even worse, the _Wayne)._

Wallowing in her own regrets about their last conversation wasn’t exactly _enjoyable_ , but it was still worlds better than the alternative. Unfortunately, thinking about said conversation usually led to thinking about how it had _ended_ , which led to her thinking about… _them._ Together. Being… _together._

She dug her nails into her forearm, trying to use the pain to push the visual of soft curves and sweat-slick skin out of her brain. When that didn’t work, she started counting crime statics, then mentally rewriting a paper she’d been chipping away at for the last few months, then singing the first song that came to her very loudly inside her head.

After what felt like an eternity of torture, the gondola arrived at its station, and Marasi practically scrambled out onto the platform, breathing the fresh air like she’d been trapped in a tomb for too long. They still had one more to go, but right then the brief moments of respite was worth its weight in atium to her.

They had a little time to kill, and so Marasi stopped outside a small cafe, and waited for the other two to notice and turn back.

“Wayne,” she said, “would you be willing to give us a minute? I need to speak to MeLaan about something."

She was worried he’d make some sort of comment, or joke, or Survivor forbid, _innuendo._ He just nodded, though, and ambled off to a nearby stall and started browsing through the magazines. 

“Is now really the best time for this?” MeLaan asked, folding her arms. 

“I think…” Marasi said slowly. “That it’s better we talk about this sooner than later. If we’re to work together, it’s best we don’t let anything fester.”

“Ah,” MeLaan said neutrally. “For the case. I see.”

“Yes, exactly. Obviously, we left things off on the wrong foot yesterday; it had been a long day, not to mention the robbery, and we both said things we didn’t mean to.”

“We both did, huh?”

Marasi nodded. This was going surprisingly well, actually. “Whatever sort of person you pretend to be is none of my business,” she continued carefully, “ and I’m sorry for making you think I was judging you. It wasn’t my intention to do so.”

MeLaan nodded, face blank. “...well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

Marasi sighed in relief, glad that she’d made herself understood (although some half-formed thought _did_ niggle at the back of her brain, but she chose to steadfastly ignore it).

“So,” she asked, “are we okay?”

“Sure,” MeLaan said easily. “We’re a-okay.”

Her tone was light, her expression friendly, but something about her demeanour made that tiny instinct bloom up from Marasi’s subconscious and reveal itself to be a familiar, sinking feeling in her stomach, one that told her she’d been here before. That, despite hearing every word that had been said in a conversation, she had _still_ managed to miss something. 

“...you’re sure?” she asked. “I feel like maybe-”

“Marasi,” MeLaan cut her off. “We’re _fine_. Stop worrying, and let's get moving, or we'll miss the next gondola." She gave an easy smirk, and in a startling bolt of insight, Marasi recognised her manner for what it was: a mask.

MeLaan had closed herself off again, and Marasi hadn’t even realised she’d opened up in the first place. 

* * *

Wax and Steris had already checked in by the time they arrived at the hotel, and the owner was giving the two of them the tour when they walked.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, hurrying over to take their hands, “and this must be the rest of your party? Welcome, welcome. I’m Aunt Gin, and I _dearly_ hope you will enjoy your stay here at the Copper Gate.”

“Thank you,” Marasi said, glancing around. They had the entire top floor to themselves, and it seemed to be designed with that arrangement in mind. Instead of individual rooms along a corridor like a normal hotel, it was structured more like an apartment, with a large living space and a kitchen surrounded by individual bedrooms and bathrooms. MeLaan had already picked one, it seemed, as she carted her bags inside and shut the door behind her. There was a well-stocked bar, which Wayne immediately flocked to like a fly to honey, and large bay windows covered with wooden louvred shutters. 

“Do these open?” Wax asked, striding over to the windows. He was still wearing his mistcoat and hat even though they were indoors, and his boots _clunk_ ed loudly on the wooden floors.

“Well, they used to open,” Aunt Gin said. “But they rattled in the breezes, so we painted them shut and sealed the latches. Never could stand the thought of someone-”

Marasi and Steris seemed to both realise what was about to happen at the same time, and their voices raised in twin protests just a moment too late.

The wood of the shutter let out a sharp _crunch_ as Wax tore it open, breaking the seal of paint that held it in place, as well as splintering some of the shutter itself.

“Lord Ladrian!” Aunt Gin said with a gasp.

“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Wax said, hopping off the couch. “I need that to open in case I have to jump out.”

“Coinshot,” Marasi quickly clarified. “Lord Waxillium is merely exercising appropriate caution, I promise.”

“ _This_ is ‘appropriate’?”

“Ah!” Steris hurried over, bearing a neat ring binder. She presented it to Aunt Gin like a proud mother handing over a child. “I’ve created a guide to help you, based on prior scenarios and statistical data.”

“Oh?” Marasi asked, interested despite herself. “Where did you get the data from?”

“Some of your papers, actually! As well as the Cantons of Industry, Agriculture, and Public Works.”

“Flooding from a diverted waterfall,” Aunt Gin said slowly, reading from the binder. “Koloss attack. Cattle stampede through the lobby?”

“That one is highly unlikely,” Steris said, “but it never hurts to be prepared!”

“...what do you expect me to _do_ about any of these?”  
“That is _also_ included in the binder. If you’ll just turn to the index-”

“I’ll take a look later,” Aunt Gin said, hastily closing the binder and tucking it under her arm. 

“If you have any questions,” Steris said, “please don’t hesitate to speak to me.”

With that, she retreated back to the couch, and whatever book had been occupying her attention so completely these past few days. 

“Is…” Aunt Gin asked quietly, watching Waxillium tear open the next window and stick his head out. “Are these people… healthy? This all seems quite alarming.”

“I assure you,” Marasi told her, “that all of their actions are perfectly reasonable based on prior incidents.” She glanced at Wayne. “Well, maybe not him, but the others are.”

Aunt Gin nodded hesitantly.

The door to the adjoining suite slammed open. 

“Hello, humans,” MeLaan said, stepping into the doorway wearing an oversized shirt and nothing else. “Quick check; what’s the atmosphere we’re going for here?”

Everybody in the room paused, then turned toward her.

She held up both hands, each of which contained an entire, solid ribcage. The one on the left was a dull metallic silver, while the one on the right was made out of a crystalline substance that sparkled where the light hit it. 

“The… atmosphere?” Marasi asked after a moment.

“Yeah, like,” she waggled the metal ribcage, “punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby? Or more,” she waggled the crystal ribcage, “talky-talky, Faceless Immortal, put the fear of Harmony into some suckers?”

Marasi and Wax exchanged a glance. “We’ll… get back to you?” Marasi said hesitantly.

MeLaan sighed, lowering her ribcages. “Typical,” she said. “Just don’t take _too_ long. This is an art, you know!”

She vanished back inside the room, then poked her head back out. “Also, tell the bellhop to hurry up with the rest of the bags. I can’t find my favourite femur _anywhere_.”

Now that she’d noticed it, Marasi couldn’t unsee the facade the other woman was putting on. MeLaan was leaning into it harder than she usually did, as well - she’d shown perfectly well her awareness of complicated social customs before, but now she was just a clueless immortal confused by these strange human rituals. It left Marasi feeling uncomfortable, and more than a little guilty. MeLaan was...

She was _acting out_ , Marasi realised. Like a _child,_ being intentionally obtuse just to get a reaction.

“W-were those _ribcages?!_ ” Aunt Gin quavered, interrupting her wallowing. 

There didn’t seem to be much point in denying it. “I promise,” Marasi said instead, “they were all acquired perfectly legally.”

That didn’t seem to have the comforting effect she’d intended.

“I’ll just- go and check on your bags, shall I?” she stammered out, looking quite pale.

“That would be excellent, thank you,” Marasi said. “Now, when you get down below, would you please also send someone to the trade bureau for me? Have them assemble a list of graveyards, mortuaries, and other death- and burial-related business or services in the city, please.”

“Graveyards?”

“It’s vitally important,” Marasi said. “We believe a valuable item may have been buried with a body.”

Aunt Gin relaxed slightly at the explanation.

“Also,” Marasi added as it occurred to her, “would you be able to get me… around two score of identical clocks?”

“ _Clocks?!_ ”

“Ones that can be changed quite easily, if possible.”

“I… suppose… there’s a department store a few streets away…?”

“Perfect.” Marasi ushered her over to the door. “Have a nice day!”

She shut the door, and turned back to the room. Wax was continuing to methodically tear the windows open, while Wayne was mixing liquors in a glass vase. 

“Someone will have to correct me if I’m wrong,” Steris said from where she sat on the sofa, “but I do believe we just scared that woman half to death.”

“Nah,” Wayne said, mixing his vase concoction with one of his dueling canes. “You got it, Scary Steri.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Steris said.

“Yeah, but when has that ever-”

“Wayne,” Wax cut in. Not harsh or cold, just firm. 

Wayne rolled his eyes, but went back to stirring his drink. Steris glanced up at Wax with something warm and soft in her eyes, and the sight caused a pang in Marasi’s heart that was so intense as to be almost painful.

“Wax,” she said abruptly. “A word?”

He nodded, not seeming surprised, and the two of them retreated to the kitchen and out of earshot.

“Pure metals,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to have a word as well. I was... well, I wanted to know if you’d…”

“Yes?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Have you noticed anything… _off_ about Wayne?”

Marasi sighed in relief. “Oh good, it’s not just me. He’s been awfully… moody, hasn’t he? And prickly.”

“I don’t like to admit it, but ‘moody’ is about the right alloy. Almost reminds me of what he was like when we first met, in fact.”

“When he was a _teenager_? So it’s worse than I thought.”

“Okay,” he allowed with a chuckle, “maybe not quite that bad. Has he… said anything to you?”

Marasi folded her arms and gave him a level stare.

“...stupid question, right.”

“If I’m being honest, I _have_ been a little more acerbic to him than usual-”

“-but if that was enough to get to him like this,” Wax finished, “then it’d be every other week, yeah. Damn it.”

“Wax…” Now it was Marasi’s turn to rub her brow. “I know it’s Wayne, but I really think you should just try talking to him. You’re his _friend,_ for Survivor’s sake. Practically his _only_ one. If you can’t get through to him, then I don’t think anyone is going to.”

Wax sighed. “...can’t really argue with that. Suppose I’d better take him with me tonight, then?”

“Mm,” Marasi agreed. “Give him an opportunity to come up with a ridiculous persona to get through the door, or something like that. Might lighten his mood some.”

“Are you alright with taking MeLaan, then? I know you were arguing earlier.” 

Marasi mused that she really didn’t give him enough credit for how perceptive he was.

“It’ll be fine,” she lied. “We’re both adults, we can be professional.” Wax nodded, seeming to accept that. “I suppose one of us ought to go tell her to change her ribcage again, though,” she added wryly.

“If I’m talking to Wayne, then you’re talking to her. Only fair.”

“Oh, I don’t like that comparison. MeLaan’s not my _sidekick-_ ” She stopped. “...oh, Survivor, MeLaan’s my sidekick.”

Wax chuckled, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a big responsibility,” he said, faux-grave. “Your first sidekick is nothing to be taken lightly.”

Marasi rolled her eyes fondly, gently knocking his hand aside as she turned to leave. “Yes, yes. Go handle _your_ big responsibility, then.”

“Marasi?”

She glanced back.

“We’re okay?”

After a moment, she nodded. 

“We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have a Them:
> 
>   
> god, it is so much fun to write a character who is just. so stupid. marasi colms is very smart but also an Idiot and its great.
> 
> Had to rewrite a significant chunk of this chapter, but its okay bc the old version was mediocre and didn't have the spark it needed. consequently it _is_ a little bit interlude-y, so apologies for that. next one is a _good_ one though, and im very excited.
> 
> notes:  
> \- when wax says "pure metals" thats me leaning way too hard into the metal idioms - "pure metals burn alike" as an equivalent of "great minds think alike". yes its corny but im just staying true to the original  
> \- just assume the ape manton fakeout happened with steris talking wax down instead of marasi (cause honestly that makes more sense anyway). it just wasnt relevant to this plot so i didnt feel the need to bend over backwards and include the mention  
> \- i do genuinely like the idea of Wax and Marasi being friends, and wish it was leant into more. the occasional moments where she's inured to their odd strategies or references are some of my favourite moments, as opposed to being baffled or confused or- whatever. you know what i mean. when it feels like they're actually friends and not just weird-pseudo colleagues but also siblings-in-law (they're also siblings in law basically and we don't see any of that at all!)  
> \- btw its not relevant to this fic AT ALL but i do see wax as bisexual, but a bit oblivious and *very* private. obviously he's been married or engaged to women in the timeframe we've seen him but i like to imagine there was a guy here and there before lessie. esp. considering he's been friends with a very out lesbian for at least a decade likely longer  
> \- as a sidebar i changed the name of the prequel fic cause i was doing planning for the next fic and i realised i wanted all the titles to be explicitly metallurgy related and the new title is much more clever anyway


	7. No Stimulus or Nourishment Save Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > And when my spirit wants **no stimulus or nourishment save music** , I know it is to be sought in cemeteries: the musicians hide in the tombs; from grave to grave flute trills, harp chords answer one another. 
> 
> \- Italo Calvino, _Invisible Cities_

As far as cemeteries went, New Seran had proven to be something of a disappointment.

Perhaps Marasi was being unfair; she doubted most people had seen as many as she had, or even more than one or two. She, on the other hand, could find her way to and around almost any of Elendel’s sixteen cemeteries and graveyards without having to consult a map. 

(‘Almost’, because the Village wasn’t open to non-Terris, and she hadn’t had the courage to ask Wax to take her there).

It wasn’t that she had a fascination with them, nothing so passe as that. The anatomy studies in her secondary education had piqued her interest, and once she’d made it to university they worked with cadavers - which were sometimes preserved through chemicals or ice and brought to the university, but more often the practical classes were simply held at a mortuary, and _those_ were usually adjacent to the burial grounds for obvious reasons. Marasi, at the time not having much going on in her life outside of her education and disinclined towards drinking with her fellow students (or at all), had developed a habit of hanging around after practicals were finished and asking questions, which she believed on balance to have been good ones due to the lack of negative reactions. So, of course, she’d spent more time there, which had eventually evolved into wandering out into the actual graveyards themselves.

At the time, she’d found the stillness and isolation rather calming, but looking back, it did seem somewhat morbid.

The main point was, New Seran Central Cemetery lacked a certain sense of… gravitas, that she’d come to appreciate in a burial ground. The walls were plain, modern brick, the fencing bland and unremarkable, the gates lacking in ornamentation. It just looked… _generic._

“This the place?” MeLaan asked, in the same overly-cheery tone she’d been using since they’d left the hotel.

“The first one, yes.” VenDell’s documents had given a list of burial places and morgues, ranked by the likelihood that ReLuur’s discarded remains were buried there.

Marasi would admit to erring on the side of paranoid caution when she’d acquired her own list from the trade bureau - but then again, _Wasing the trust, but double of the thems checking_ , as the Lord Lestibournes once said. 

Trust, but verify.

“Right,” MeLaan said, “you want me to kick down the gate? Or pick the lock?”

“Or,” Marasi suggested, a little testily, “we could try doing this _legally_. At least at first.”

MeLaan shrugged. “Sure, if you like.”

The face the kandra was wearing now had vaguely Terris features, with middle-brown skin and a bob of tightly-curled ringlets, and the build was somewhat more… _generous_ than the bodies she usually wore. Which isn’t to say Marasi found it ungainly, of course; simply that it caught her off-guard. In fact, this face and body was probably the most conventionally attractive one she’d seen from the kandra: the dimples on her cheeks and the dusting of freckles across her nose had drawn her more than a few looks from passers-by as they moved through the streets of New Seran (not to mention her… assets). She was wearing a simple walking suit, the ochre colour complimenting her skin tone, and a small fascinator that sparkled in the light when she moved.

All in all, she had left Marasi feeling rather plain in comparison, with her limp, stringy hair and her unflattering roughspun clothes and her pale skin and and her… _everything._ It felt like MeLaan had gone out of her way to choose an appearance that highlighted every unflattering aspect of Marasi’s. 

But surely that was simply insecure paranoia on Marasi’s part.

Surely.

The small administrative building was on the very edge of the graveyard, and was placed across the boundary fence in such a way as to be accessible from the street, if one didn’t want to use either of the larger, more ornate gates also present. Which was also convenient for their purposes, as the graveyard was already closed.

The timing wasn’t ideal - even having slept the night on the train, Marasi’s exhaustion was so strong that she hadn’t awoken from her ‘nap’ until it was already dark out. She was hoping it wouldn’t be too much of an impediment - after all, depending on your theological leanings the dead either never slept or did nothing but. 

Hopefully their caretakers followed the same principles. 

Marasi cleared her throat, marshalled her thoughts, then stepped up and knocked on the door. 

The door opened a crack, and a face appeared through it, one with a vaguely rodent-esque cast and an untamed, wiry beard. He looked like a stereotypical gravekeeper, in other words; a stereotype which Marasi in fact knew to be unfounded, having met many with impeccable grooming.

“Good evening,” Marasi said politely. “I was hoping to speak with you about-”

The door slammed in her face. “Got nothin’ to say to the likes of you,” growled the man’s voice, muffled through the door. “Bugger off.”

Marasi took a deep breath, and let it out through her nose. 

“I think that went well!” MeLaan chirped cheerily from beside her.

“Would you _stop_?!” Marasi snapped at her. “Just- _stop it._ ”

“Stop what?”

“Stop- _pretending._ ” The words were out before she’d had time to think - with her exhaustion and frustration, the leash her brain had on her mouth was even looser than normal. 

She wasn’t even looking at MeLaan, but as soon as she spoke, Marasi could tell something had changed. “Ooh, sorry, but I’m afraid _pretending_ is all I can do!” The fake cheeriness was gone, replaced with a similar, but much more intimidating, malicious glee. 

“Really,” Marasi said, trying to rein in her own temper. “Because from what I’ve seen, all you’re _actually_ good at is _violence_ and _sarcasm_.”

MeLaan’s height in her current body was barely more than Marasi’s, but she still managed to draw herself up to it quite effectively. “...did you ever stop to consider,” she said in a low tone that sent shivers down Marasi’s spine, “that _trying_ to get under an immortal’s skin is _maybe_ not the best idea?!”

They were standing… _quite_ close now, and Marasi felt like she was going to burn up from the animosity. Her brain was screaming at her to back down, her gut was screaming to do… _something,_ she didn’t know what, but her mouth ignored them both and dug its heels in. 

“I wasn’t aware I _had_ to try,” she said, sickeningly sweet. “After yesterday, I just assumed you were perfectly capable of working yourself up on your own.”

MeLaan’s breath stuttered, so tiny that Marasi would have missed it if she hadn’t been standing close enough to feel the disturbance on her face, and for a second, Marasi thought that all the tension in the air between them was going to snap. 

Instead, some of the anger bled out of MeLaan’s expression, and she took a step back.

Marasi took a deep breath, sucking in air like she’d just surfaced from underwater. _What is_ happening _to me? Have I come down with something? The hot flashes, the breathlessness… Maybe I should see a doctor._

“I’ll give you this,” MeLaan said, startling her out of her thoughts, “no one has gotten under my skin _quite_ like you have in a _very_ long time. So, kudos to you, for being unpleasant on a _historic_ scale.”

“Maybe you’re just getting old,” Marasi said sweetly. _Survivor help me, am I… enjoying this?_ She liked to think she wasn’t normally the type to be cutting or spiteful, but something about MeLaan, something about this particular conversation, was bringing her a kind of vicious satisfaction. Something had shifted imperceptibly, and when she wasn’t paying attention, things had turned from an argument into… something else, something strangely _charged._

Charged with what, she didn’t know. Didn’t _want_ to know. 

MeLaan narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was cut off as the door screeched back open, the man’s head poking back out.

“Piss off,” he growled at them. “Don’t need your _yellin_ ’ on my stoop, prigs.”

MeLaan looked at Marasi. _Let me handle this,_ her expression clearly said.

Marasi rolled her eyes, but nodded.

“Look, mate,” MeLaan drawled. Her mannerisms shifted, gaining some of the tense slouch that the gravedigger had. “We know ‘bout the second-hands.”

The gravedigger flinched, but then marshalled his expression into a sneer. “Don’t know what yer talkin’ bout.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” MeLaan said, pronouncing it almost like ‘shyoo-er’. “So if ol’ Bill gets a tip or two about some under-the-tables, won’t affect you none, ey?”

The man spat to the side, baring his teeth. “That a _threat_?”

“Nah, nah. Jus’ an option, is all. See, we’re looking for information about one or two of them there graves. Once we got that, we’re out of yer hair. That’s the _other_ option, and probably the shinier one if I do say so myself.”

“S’at so.” He didn’t seem particularly convinced. “Or maybe I say-” and then he said a series of words that Marasi quite frankly found overcompensatory. One or two more carefully chosen words would have had more of an effect, in her opinion. “-and your cat,” he finished. 

“You kiss yer ma with that mouth?” MeLaan asked.

“I’ll kiss _yer_ ma with it if ya don’t screw off!”

It was clearly time for a different tactic.

“Excuse me? Sir?” Marasi asked.

He wheeled on her. “What?!”

“Has anyone ever told you that your beard makes you look like an inbred alcoholic?” 

For a second, she got to enjoy the twin expressions of shock on his and MeLaan’s faces. Then, his expression contorted into fury, and he stalked towards her, raised finger pointing accusingly. Marasi didn’t particularly enjoy having the man’s full attention on her, but that was rather the point. 

“You got a lot of _nerve,_ ” he spat, “waltzing in here and saying-”

Marasi dropped a cadmium bubble around them.

A normal bubble would slow them both down a significant degree, but just to be sure, she’d flared her metal as well, the burn bright and warm like a lamp in her core. To the world outside, and more specifically _MeLaan_ , they would have appeared to have stopped moving entirely. 

_Please, figure it out._

Thankfully, she saw MeLaan’s silhouette zip past the gravekeeper and through the doorway of the building. As soon as she re-emerged, Marasi dropped the bubble.

The entire process, from her perspective, had taken about two seconds.

“-then youse’ve got another think coming!” The groundskeeper, caught up in his rant, didn’t seem to have noticed the change in the swirling of the mists, nor MeLaan trying her hand at steelrunning. Marasi couldn’t take the credit for intentionally riling him up in the first place, but she’d read enough psychological studies to take advantage of his tunnel vision once it occurred to her to do so. 

Marasi glanced over at MeLaan, who gave her a tiny nod. “You know what?” she said, stalking over to Marasi. “Forget this. This two-boxing clown clearly doesn’t know anything anyway.”

Marasi had to admit, she _was_ good. The “attempt” at reverse psychology made him react in exactly the way they wanted him to, while thinking he was getting one over on them.

“Ha!” he scoffed, spitting to the side again. “Y’think I’m an idiot, huh? Get off!” He then made a gesture that, while unfamiliar to Marasi, seemed fairly clear in its meaning.

As they walked away, MeLaan mirrored the gesture back at him, then added a few more in for good measure. She’d taken Marasi by the arm as part of the act, ‘dragging’ her away, and while it certainly wasn’t intended as a pleasant touch, Marasi found herself surprised by how little she minded. Usually, she disliked having people in close vicinity, let alone actively touching her, but MeLaan’s hand on her bicep didn’t cause the same discomfort as it usually would. Her grip was firm but not unyielding, and Marasi didn’t feel intimidated or threatened by her physical presence, the way she usually did with men she’d d-

She frowned. _Why did I think of_ that _? I don’t like it when Steris touches me, either -_ although when she actually thought about it, that particular fact was more to do with her awareness that Steris herself wasn’t always comfortable with physical contact, and not wanting to make her feel obligated.

She was probably just tired, she decided. And it had maybe been... a while. That was all.

“...so, ‘second-hands’?”Marasi asked as they approached the main gate.

“Selling stuff that people are buried with,” MeLaan replied. “I didn’t actually _know_ that he had that racket running, but I figured it was a pretty good bet.” She didn’t sound _happy,_ but at the very least they were managing cordial. If only for the sake of the case.

“...good thinking,” Marasi said, ironically without doing much of that herself.

MeLaan twisted around to look at her, surprise only evident for a brief second before being wiped away behind careful neutrality. “...thanks. Anyway, found a pretty good candidate in the books - the date lines up, at least.” She crouched down in front of the gate, sticking her hand out.

Marasi watched with disgust and fascination as the flesh on one of MeLaan’s fingers slid forward off the bone and into the lock. A second later, it clicked open, and her finger emerged, still in the shape of the inside of the mechanism. 

MeLaan carefully opened the gate (thank the Survivor for well-oiled hinges), and stepped aside with a broad flourish.

Marasi bit down a comment about her actually being good for something after all, and stepped through.

After a quick stop at a shed to ‘borrow’ two shovels, they began working their way through the rows of headstones and plaques, keeping an eye out for the inscription of the grave they were looking for. The mists, which had already begun to appear with sunset, quickly grew thicker and more obscurant still, until Marasi could barely see a few feet in front of her. MeLaan didn’t seem to be having any difficulty - presumably, she had just modified her eyes to compensate. 

The mists gave the graveyard a measure of gravitas that she’d felt it was lacking earlier, curling around the stone and marble in twisting strands. Being unable to see the fences made Marasi feel almost as if they were walking through an eternal field of graves, as if they were forming out of the mists themselves as they approached, and dissolving away again once they’d passed. It was a morbid image, but a strangely comforting one.

Eventually, they found the grave they were looking for, at the end of a row of similarly-minimalist burials. The grave was marked only by a simple plaque, nameless but bearing the simple message “May You Find Peace Beyond”. 

“Well,” MeLaan said. “That’s… trite.”

Marasi happened to agree, but didn’t want to admit as such. “Just hand over the shovel,” she said. “The sooner we’re done here, the better.”

MeLaan chuckled. “Sweetheart, if you wanted a shovel, you should have grabbed your own.”

Marasi stared at her in disbelief. “One, _don’t_ call me sweetheart. Two, are you _seriously_ playing keepaway _now_?! Of all times?!”

“Yep, that’s me!” the kandra said cheerily. “Juvenile, silly MeLaan! Always playing games!”

“You know, MeLaan,” Marasi snapped, voice uncomfortably high and shrill, “I take it back! You’re a great actor after all! For a six-hundred-year-old immortal, your impression of a _petulant toddler_ is spot on _!_ ”

MeLaan jerked back like she’d been struck, her lips pulling back to bare her teeth. “Oh, you want to talk to me about _children,_ you arrogant ambulatory _ape_?! I’ve taken _shits_ that lasted longer than you’ve been alive!” 

“And yet you still haven’t learnt to act with even the _slightest_ bit of dignity!”

“Well, that’d be hard,” MeLaan drawled, “considering that _apparently_ all _I’m_ good for is fighting and f-”

“ _Hsst!_ ” Marasi shoved a finger in her face, cutting her off. “Enough! I _tried_ to apologise for that! _You’re_ the one who said it was fine when it _clearly_ isn’t and continued to bring it back up!”

MeLaan laughed, full of scorn. “Oh, really?! ‘Don’t worry, MeLaan’,” she said in an uncanny imitation of Marasi’s voice, “‘now I know that it doesn’t actually matter what face you put on, cause you’re nothing but a hollow shell underneath’! Yeah, _great_ apology there, Mara.”

Marasi flinched. “That is _not_ what I said! But, you know what? _Don’t worry_ , MeLaan,” she echoed, “now I know that all the irritating, juvenile, _boorish_ qualities are all you! _Forgive me_ , for wanting to assume that you’re better than how you act!”

“And there it is!” MeLaan proclaimed triumphantly. “She _finally_ admits that she’s an arrogant, _judgemental_ little b-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Marasi hissed, pointing at her. “Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence.”

Surprisingly, MeLaan actually seemed slightly chagrined. “...fine. Not worth it anyway. Also,” she held up one of the shovels, “I _wasn’t_ playing keep-away, thank you very much. Before you jumped down my throat, I was _going_ to say that it’s more efficient if I do the digging myself.”

“...oh,” Marasi said, chagrined. “Well… good.”

MeLaan raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“... _quite_ good?”

She sighed, and started digging. “Unbelievable.”

Sure enough, MeLaan with two shovels went significantly faster than two normal people with one each could. She held the shovels by the shaft, and despite her not using the handles, her grip stayed firm and unwavering, even when encumbered with a load of dirt. The muscles in her shoulders and back _did_ seem to be contorting and writhing in unnatural ways underneath the fabric of her jacket, and after a few minutes Marasi had to look away to avoid being sick. 

And also to avoid getting a mouthful of dirt every other second.

Within a few minutes, MeLaan had dug almost six feet down, and Marasi hovered just beyond the splash zone, doing her best to peer over the lip of the hole to keep an eye on the progress. 

“MeLaan?” she called down. “Are you close, do you think?”

The kandra woman froze, but didn’t respond.

“...MeLaan?”

The shovels fell from MeLaan’s hands, then, in a blur of motion, she leapt out of the hole in one fluid, unnatural movement. 

“Wh-” Marasi started to say, but MeLaan immediately leaped forward, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“ _Shh_ ,” she hissed while Marasi palpitated over the sudden contact. “I thought I heard…” 

She tilted her head to the side in a gesture oddly reminiscent of a dog, eyes narrowing. 

“Eight people, heavy boots,” she said quietly. 

She stepped back, leaving Marasi feeling oddly cold and shivery. “Who’s in a _graveyard_ at eight in the evening?” she asked, irritated

“Apart from us?” MeLaan asked dryly. "Well, good thing we’ve already got a grave dug, huh?”

She took a step forward, but Marasi grabbed her by the arm.

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” she demanded. “We can’t just go around _killing_ people!”

“Yeah, _we_ can’t.” She shook off Marasi’s grip. “I _,_ on the other hand, _can_.”

“It’s not about _physical capability,_ MeLaan, it’s about _basic right and wrong!_ ”

“They’re in a graveyard in the middle of the night,” she said flippantly. “They’ve probably done something to deserve it.”

“ _So are we!_ ” Marasi hissed. “Are you going to kill me now too?!”

“It’s becoming _tempting,_ ” MeLaan muttered, quiet enough that Marasi almost missed it.

“Let’s just... hide until they’re gone,” she suggested, instead of taking the bait.

“Right, and I’m sure they won’t see anything suspicious about the half-dug grave _at all_.”

“Well, can’t you just- I don’t know, incapacitate them? Non-lethally?”

“You wouldn’t know, _Marasi,_ but it’s actually quite difficult to fight eight people when you’re on your own, and that’s _without_ having my hands tied behind my back!”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?!” Marasi demanded. “What, because I’ve never seen a single fight before?! Because I’m so delicate and fragile-”

“Because you aren’t-” MeLaan cut herself off, snapping her head back around to the direction she’d said they were approaching from. Marasi thought she could see faint silhouettes forming out of the mists, and her blood ran cold.

“Listen,” MeLaan hissed, “we don’t have time to argue about this. If I can’t kill them-” Startlingly, she actually _hesitated,_ looking uncertain. 

“...I have an idea. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

If she’d time to think about it, Marasi might have quibbled and equivocated. But in the heat of the moment, despite everything they’d just thrown at one another…

“Okay,” she said, and was surprised to find that she meant it.

“Okay,” MeLaan echoed back to her, reaching up and removing her fascinator, tucking it in a pocket.“Just… follow my lead.” She took Marasi’s hand, and pulled her _towards_ the approaching group.

“Wha-?”

“ _Trust me_ ,” MeLaan repeated. 

And before Marasi had time to react, she rested one hand on her hip, lifted the other to cup her face, leant in-

-and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate High Imperial. What the fuck is "Wasing the where of calling out"? bitch i will kill you  
> jokes aside i do genuinely dislike High Imperial. It's twee enough as slang, but at least things like cockney rhyming slang do exist (although HI is still super artificial compared to CRS). but it being the equivalent of latin is. dumb. i like the concept but when it already kind of sucked to write and read, the joke doesn't really land imo.
> 
> notes:  
> \- sike! you thought i wasnt going to talk about the kiss but i did! gotcha bitches  
> \- im not gonna say this was the _very first_ scene i thought of when i initially conceptualised the fic, but it was definitely one of the first.  
> \- yes im making the plot contort itself into a pretzel to fit the scene in, what of it  
> \- "i WILL be getting extremely self-indulgent with the romance beats. i will not apologise, i will not change." - me at the end of the very first chapter. i warned yall, i did.  
> \- i know this chapter is just 'plot -> argument -> plot -> argument' rinse and repeat, but i had too much sadistic fun thinking of new insults. i even had to cut some for flow! so now i just have a document full of sick burns that i have 0 idea when i'll ever get to use. ce la vie


	8. Sung Me Moon-Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed  
> And **sung me moon-struck** , kissed me quite insane.  
> (I think I made you up inside my head.)
> 
> \- Sylvia Plath, _Mad Girl's Love Song_

Despite the way she knew she came off sometimes, Marasi wasn’t a _complete_ innocent.

She’d had a boyfriend in the latter years of her schooling, and another during university, plus a few dates scattered in here and there. Sure, she’d never… _you know,_ but she’d gotten as far as fairly heavy petting with Tomase, the friendly, quiet young man from her second year Historical Legislature class. And obviously she’d read textbooks, and seen more than her fair share of corpses - even dissected a few herself, and they didn’t exactly put a fig leaf over the genitals when you were elbow deep in someone’s ribcage.

The point was, Marasi was no stranger to the act. To be completely honest, she’d never entirely understood the appeal; she didn’t find it _repulsive,_ but she didn’t gain any particular enjoyment from the act either. She had never initiated it, and was usually relieved when it was over, if for no other reason than to be able to do _anything else_ (people not usually being appreciative of their partner holding a book up behind their head to read while being kissed). 

But then again, she’d never been kissed like _this._

MeLaan’s lips were soft and warm as they moved against her own, but everything else about the kiss was about as far from ‘soft’ as it was possible to be. For a second, Marasi just stood there, frozen, unable to even comprehend what was happening. Then, her rationality made a heroic final effort against the fog rapidly overtaking it, and she realised what MeLaan was trying to do. A young couple sneaking into a graveyard for a bit of a thrill was much easier... to explain... than… 

At which point, the remnants of her reason burned the last of their metals, and Marasi’s world narrowed down to the lips against her own and the hands buried in her hair.

After what felt like a timeless eternity but realistically couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, a polite cough broke through her reverie. 

She jerked back in shock, eyes snapping open. The first thing she saw was MeLaan’s face, flushed with exertion, pupils wide and dark under hooded lids, lips swollen and slightly parted. Marasi felt sure that she would have been drawn back in like iron to a lurcher, if she hadn’t been distracted by the sight of the men leering over her shoulder.

She gasped, almost pushing MeLaan away in her haste, until she recovered her wits and pulled her in between the men and herself. It was a quite convincing impression of a flustered young woman caught out-of-breath and _dishabille_ , mostly because that’s exactly what she was. 

She glanced down, and realised her shirt had been pulled entirely out of her breeches - when had _that_ happened?! She began hastily stuffing it back in, only to realise that the top few buttons had also been undone.

 _Really, MeLaan?!_ she thought as she fumbled with them. _I understand the need to be convincing, but that’s a bit far._ Then again, Marasi had probably been guilty of that as well.

MeLaan coughed, turning to face the group. 

“Ah- heh. Uh, evening, gents!” She’d lowered the pitch of her voice, and from behind Marasi could see that she was _somehow_ bunching up her skirts at the back of her legs to give the rough imitation of pants. “We was just, uh. Look, I promise I’ve got a _really good_ explanation for why we’re here-”

One of the group chuckled. “No need to explain, lad. She likes the thrill, huh?”  
He jerked his chin at Marasi, and she did her best to shrink out of sight behind MeLaan. At the very least, she didn’t have to fake the flaming cheeks that would be reasonable in the situation.

MeLaan laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“Ah, the joys of youth,” another one of the group rumbled out. His tone was almost fond, but with an undercurrent that made Marasi extremely uncomfortable. 

“Indeed,” the first man said. “You two lovebirds should run along now, and forget you ever saw us, hm? Else you might get a bit more _thrill_ than you can handle.”

“O-of course,” MeLaan said, not quite managing to hide the fearful stutter in her voice. Except- no, she surely sounded exactly how she’d meant to. Marasi had just gotten taken in for a moment. She hadn’t _really_ meant her comment about the kandra’s acting abilities, but she still had to retract it regardless. 

The apparent leader smirked at them, and flicked a coin into the air. MeLaan stumbled forward and just managed to catch it. 

“Take your girl somewhere nice,” he said as the group started to walk off, tracing an arced path around them. “Away from here.”

They disappeared back into the mists, the sound of their chuckles and murmured conversations fading with them.

“Okay,” MeLaan said after a few moments, her voice returned to its usual tenor and tone. “Seeing as we’re not currently being riddled with bullets, I’m going to say that they didn’t find the grave.”

As she turned back, it became clear she’d changed the shape of her face as well, along with the colour of her skin, in order to more completely sell the disguise. 

“Right,” Marasi said, still off-kilter. “W-why did you pretend to be a man?”

MeLaan shot her a look, one that seemed too tired to be properly annoyed. “Because two women kissing, alone, at night, in a graveyard, is the kind of risk we were trying to avoid.”

“Oh,” Marasi said weakly. “Of course.” The words _two women kissing_ bounced around the inside of her head, knocking any other possible thoughts out of the way like a ricocheting gunshot in a pulp novel. She’d been so caught up that the thought of exactly _who_ had been kissing her had managed to slip her mind at the time.

“Don’t worry,” MeLaan added, “I’ll go back to pretending to be a woman, now.”

Marasi gaped at the sudden venom in her tone, before her brain caught up to her. The argument they’d been having not moments ago now seemed to be lost to the fog of time and memory, as if there was a demarcation placed across her own past, dividing everything into ‘before’ and ‘after’.

“MeLaan-” Marasi started to say, but the other woman was already turning away, peering in the direction the group had disappeared towards. “Can we-”

“Later.” MeLaan shrugged off the jacket of her walking suit, draping it gently over a headstone. “I’m going to go follow them,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt as well. Marasi hastily turned away. “If they _are_ here ‘with intent to do harm’, which they _obviously_ are considering their _extremely subtle_ threats, do I have your _permission_ to utilise lethal force, oh great and wise officer of the law?”

Her tone made it clear exactly how little she thought of said permission.

“Yes, alright, you’ve made your point,” Marasi said without turning around. “I’ll… finish digging up the grave, then?”

“Sure, if you like.” There was a final burst of rustling fabric, and then when Marasi risked a glance over her shoulder, she was gone. 

Marasi sighed, dragging a hand over her face. Her lips still felt swollen and pleasantly sore when her fingers brushed over them, and even minutes later, she was still slightly short of breath.

The words _two women kissing_ bubbled up from the mire of her thoughts again, but she swiftly pushed them back down. MeLaan wasn’t _really_ a woman anyway. Marasi had probably just reacted like that because it’d been so long since she’d last had any sort of romantic contact. 

And besides, MeLaan was a man at the time anyway. She’d even said so herself-

 _Oh,_ Marasi realised. _She was being sarcastic._

She groaned, and began lowering herself down into the grave. 

At least wallowing in the argument would be a distraction from thinking about M- about the situation. 

* * *

When MeLaan returned, it was to find Marasi sitting glumly at the bottom of the grave, on top of a cheap, half-buried casket with its lid ajar.

“So,” she called out, leaning over the edge, “turns out those guys were _absolutely_ here to kill us.” 

Thankfully, she’d put her clothes back on already, and had returned to her previous attractive appearance. Some of her characteristic good humour had returned as well; it only partially masked the underlying tension, but it was as clear a ‘let’s just pretend everything’s normal’ cue as Marasi had ever heard. She was more than happy to pick it up, considering how well having it out in the open had worked out. “That gravekeeper told them we were asking about graves, and then they shot him, so then I killed them all.” 

Marasi glanced up, startled. “They shot him?!”

MeLaan shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, but he tried to have us killed, so I think that’s okay. And hey, check it out!” She lifted both her hands and waggled them. “No blood!”

Marasi was too tired to bring herself to be angry. “Congratulations. Do you want the good news or the bad news, then?”

“I like to think I’m a glass-half-full girl, so… good news.”

Marasi rapped the side of the coffin with her knuckles. “The good news is that this is definitely ReLuur’s… detritus.”

MeLaan frowned. “And let me guess, the bad news is that there’s no spike.”

“Yep. And I checked, too.” Wearily, Marasi held up her own hands. “See? Yes blood.”

She’d taken off her shirt beforehand, but searching through the butcher’s nightmare that was a kandra’s remains had still left her bloodied up to her forearms, with a few splatters on her undershirt to boot.

“Ouch,” MeLaan said with a wince. She hopped down effortlessly, landing next to Marasi. “Want me to take care of that?”

“Please,” Marasi said tiredly, not thinking far enough ahead to ask _what_ that entailed until MeLaan had already taken one bloodied hand in her own. Marasi froze, unable to prevent herself from flashing back to what those hands had been doing just minutes ago. Thankfully, before she could flinch away, MeLaan took her mind off it quite effectively by dissolving the flesh of her hand and letting it flow down to cover Marasi’s.

She bit down on a shriek, whipping her gaze away from the _thoroughly_ unsettling sight. The sensation reminded her of her anatomy classes, muscle and flesh surrounding her hand, but cadavers didn’t move on their own. 

She shuddered as the ring of pulsating flesh slid up her arm, stopping just below her armpit before finally pulling away.

“Sorry,” MeLaan said. “Should have warned you.”

“Yes, you should,” Marasi replied. “I thought you were just going to wash it off!” 

She had to admit, though, that likely wouldn’t have been anywhere near as effective as MeLaan’s method - the skin of her arm was now completely clean and dry, feeling like she’d just towelled it down after a bath. And, more importantly, not a speck of blood remained, compared to the slaughterhouse-esque sight of the other arm.

She pushed down her knee-jerk nausea, and held out the dirty one. “Thank you,” she muttered, staring at the dirt ‘wall’ of the grave.

“No problem.” 

Once she was done, Marasi picked up her shirt from where she’d draped it over the coffin and shrugged it back on. 

“So,” MeLaan asked, while Marasi was doing up the last few buttons, “what now?”

Marasi chewed on her lip as she thought. “You said the gravedigger had called those men in, correct?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing he had instructions to inform them if anyone asked about that sort of stuff.”

“Set, do you think?”

“Hard to say - they weren’t exactly carrying membership certificates. They had some training, though - not just common thugs. So… maybe? Probably? Be pretty annoying if there were _two_ secretive criminal conspiracies mixed up in this, at least.”

“Unfortunately,” Marasi said, “not impossible, as much as I’d like it to be.” She sighed. “Well, whoever they are, I think it’s safe to assume they got here well before us, and I doubt they’ve left a… calling… card….”

She shot to her feet. 

“What?” MeLaan asked, following her up. “You think of something?”

“No,” Marasi declared excitedly, “ _you_ did.”

“So... you’re psychic now?”

Marasi was too excited to be deterred by her sarcasm. “Weren’t you _just_ saying before that a lot of gravediggers pawn the stuff people were buried with?”

She blinked. “I _did_ say that. Damn, I’m smart. You think there might be a ledger or something?”

“Only one way to find out,” she said, glancing over at MeLaan. That immediately proved to be a mistake. She’d meant to look her in the eyes, but instinctively her gaze had flickered down to MeLaan’s lips instead. It was only for a moment, before she got herself under control, but it had happened all the same. Why, she had no idea - it wasn’t even like they were the same lips as before, when they’d- as before.

Clearly, Marasi thought as they climbed out of the grave, she was even more frustrated than she’d believed.

* * *

“Found it!” MeLaan called from where she was crouched underneath the desk.

“Oh, thank the Survivor,” Marasi groaned, rising out of the awkward pose she’d had to contort herself into to check behind the cabinets.

Constables shifted out of her way as she moved across the room, a few giving her respectful nods that she enjoyed far more than she should’ve. Considering that almost a dozen people had died, they’d called in the local constabulary, despite MeLaan’s protests that she could make the whole problem disappear.

(Marasi had assumed she meant by eating the bodies, and then had avoided assuming any further in order to not throw up. Again).

While the constables dealt with the corpses, the two of them had been searching for any kind of false drawer or hidden compartment that could contain any extra-legal documents. Marasi had had a good feeling about the cabinets, so the fact that MeLaan was right about the desk was a little annoying.

“Look at this,” the kandra in question said, lifting the hefty tome. “All itemised and dated. For a bunch of criminals, they run a tight shop.”

Marasi leant over MeLaan’s shoulder, trying to ignore the memories their closeness evoked, and watched as one long, slender finger dragged down the ledger. It didn’t seem to belong to the late gravedigger specifically, but to the graveyard as a whole. It listed plots, what had been found in them, and to whom it had been sold. More importantly, there was a note on the entry of ReLuur’s grave - ‘If anyone comes looking to investigate this plot, send to me immediately’ - courtesy of one...

“...Templeton Fig,” MeLaan read out. “Huh. Is that seriously his name? His parents must have been… _interesting_.”

“Templeton Fig...” Marasi mused. “I’m sure I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t think of where...”

“A vaudeville comedy show? The Hall of Fame at the Elendel Association of Clownery?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, MeLaan.” 

“Oh, are you _seriously-_ ”

“It was _clearly_ the Elendel Poodle Society’s Worst In Show party.”

After a moment, a snort broke through MeLaan’s irritated expression. “...good one. Nice to see you can be intentionally funny.”

“I’m _funny_ ,” Marasi protested weakly. “...I have my moments, at least.” 

“No, _Steris_ has her moments. As far as I’m aware, you have _moment_ , singular, and it was just now.”

“That is _entirely_ -” she gasped, eyes going wide. “That’s it!”

“What?”

“Party!” she exclaimed, spinning back to rifle through the ledger again. “ _That’s_ where I saw the name. It was on the guest list for the party Waxillium is attending! I remember because I noticed it at the time and thought it was odd.”

“Huh,” MeLaan said. “Well, that’s… convenient, I guess.”

“So all we have to do is-”

“Wait,” MeLaan interrupted, “hold on. Why were you looking at the guest list in the first place?”

“...I don’t see why that’s important. What I was _saying_ is, all we have to do is find this Templeton Fig at the party, and… _convince_ him to hand over the spike.”

“And by _convince_ , you mean…?”

Marasi shrugged one shoulder, an imitation of the effortlessly casual gesture MeLaan used regularly. “Oh, I’m sure something will come to mind.”

“Now you’re speaking my language," MeLaan said, face cracking into a grin.

Marasi did her best to ignore the flutter it sent through her core, and failed miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lateness of the update. some mental health. stuff. has put the kibosh on my efforts to build a buffer, so we're back to writing for the deadline. we'll see how it goes, but i dont think i can guarantee strict midnight updates right now. c'est la vie, or however the fuck you spell it.
> 
> notes:  
> \- i won't apologise for using a plath poem. im gay and mentally ill, what do you want from me  
> \- we've already established that religious homophobia exists in the time period which is dope. and look. the comments that wayne makes towards Ranette about Misra show SO MUCH about what the culture is like, even though its obviously not intentional. congratulations brandon you managed to communicate that this is a society that is often homophobic and where men fetishise wlw in like a single line cool stuff  
> \- based on what we've seen I'm operating under the assumption that era 2 elendel is basically like... 2000s era australia? its not illegal to be gay and there are you know civic unions and stuff but you still need to be careful in certain places and definitely arent considered equal under the law (i just used that example cause its where i live, im not trying to make some specific comparison or anything)  
> \- the chapter creep continues... a bit of the end of this one is now the beginning of the next, buuuut i had some space in chapters 10-11 i was undecided about, so the projected count should still be the same if i just chop that


	9. A Perpendicular Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “I have spent a certain amount of time lately watching people in London dance in the various new ways. I report what went on in three very different places where my fellow countrymen and women had come together to give what Shaw called ‘ **a perpendicular expression** of a horizontal desire’.” 
> 
> \- George Melly, _Late Perpendicular_

“So?” MeLaan asked as they walked down the drive towards the entrance. “What’s our plan?”

“Plan?” Marasi frowned. “I was just going to… tell the truth? That we’re friends with Lord Ladrian, I’m with the Elendel constabulary, and we need to speak to him?” 

Saying it out loud, she could hear how weak it was.

MeLaan confirmed that feeling with a little shake of her head. “These things tend to be pretty exclusive, far as I’m aware. Not sure that’ll fly, Mara.”

(Marasi hadn’t noticed exactly when MeLaan had picked up Wayne’s nickname for her, but she didn’t mind it nearly as much when the other woman used it).

Marasi worried her lip as they followed the gravel path, passing by the steel-wrought lanterns that created a thin avenue through the mists. “...any suggestions?” she asked hesitantly.

“I _distinctly_ remember you saying this was a ‘punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby’ evening. What’s with all this talky-talky?”

Marasi sighed. 

The constables had been kind enough to give them a ride back to the station, which was only a gondola ride away from the tower where Lady Kelesina’s party was being held. They were _also_ willing to let Marasi borrow a few items from their lost and found - although that one took slightly more convincing. When Wax and Steris had left for the party, they’d been dressed in full formal. MeLaan’s walking suit might _just_ pass muster, once the kandra had made a few adjustments to the hemline and neck, but Marasi had planned to dig up graves and had dressed accordingly. 

After some careful consideration, MeLaan had her put on a bolo tie from the lost-and-found, rolled her sleeves up to the elbow, and then kneeled and did... _something_ to the hem of her pants. Marasi didn’t think she could have looked down while it was happening even if threatened at gunpoint, but when she was done and Marasi remembered how to breath, they appeared considerably neater and better-fitting than before. 

With her button-up passing for a dress shirt at a glance, and the slimmer fit of the pants, Marasi had to admit that she did look rather well-put-together. Unfortunately, considering that she was wearing trousers, she also looked _quite_ daring, so they were banking on Steris’s comments about the newer, ‘looser’ styles being accurate. 

Of course, none of that would matter if they couldn’t even get in the door. 

A bit of quick-talking on MeLaan’s part had handled the guards at the estate’s entrance, but the doorman would be checking invitations, and as they came to a stop just far enough from the door to not draw attention to themselves, it became obvious that there was no crowd for them to use as cover - hardly surprising, considering the party had started some time ago now. 

Marasi wasn’t sure how to proceed, and MeLaan looking at her expectantly certainly wasn’t making it easy to concentrate. 

_Well, maybe the second time’s the charm. So…_

She steeled herself. 

_What... would Wayne do?_

And, horrifically enough, that gave her an idea.

“Okay,” Marasi said quietly, “here’s the plan. I’ll bubble the doorman, you sneak a look at his book and find someone who hasn’t shown up that we can convincingly imitate.”

“We still don’t have an invitation,” MeLaan pointed out.

“You’re the genius actor,” Marasi said. “Improvise something.”

“Oh?” MeLaan said in a low voice, leaning in slightly. The look in her eyes made Marasi shiver. “So you admit I can act, now?”

“I _might_ ,” Marasi replied at the same volume, voice strangely husky. “Why don’t you take this as an opportunity to _prove_ it to me.”

MeLaan’s eyes flickered down for a second, before snapping back up to Marasi’s own. _Did she just-?_

MeLaan stepped back, and the tension of the moment flooded away. Marasi took a deep breath, subtly fanning herself with a hand to try and cool down. They’d just been _talking_ , but she felt almost as out of breath as when they’d-

_Nope._

“So,” she asked hastily, pushing the thought from her mind. “Can you do it?”

“Does a lion shit in the prairie?”

“...is that a ‘yes’?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“ _MeLaan_.”

She grinned, stepping off to the side. “I can do it.”

“Okay.” Marasi focused, visualising the bubble she’d need to create. “Three, two, one-”

And then a scraggly, white-haired beggar leapt out from behind the doorman and snatched his hat off his head.

“Bally-hoo!” the beggar cried, dancing in front of the doorman and waving his prize about triumphantly. 

“Wh- you little rat!” the doorman exclaimed, nearly knocking his stand over as he charged after the hat-thief, steaming with rage. “I’ll see you in the stocks this time, just you watch!”

The beggar merely cackled, scuttling backwards and staying constantly _just_ out of reach as he waved the hat around. Just before he disappeared into the mists, the doorman in close pursuit, his head turned towards them, and Marasi would almost swear that he’d _winked._

Then they were both gone, leaving the entryway wide open.

They both stared in shock.

“-well, shit,” MeLaan said, and grabbed Marasi by the hand, dragging her forward towards the door. “Go, go, go!”

Marasi managed to get her feet underneath her, and they dashed through the entrance, slowing slightly once they reached the foyer. Thankfully, it was empty, and the elevator at the back of the room was a fancy modern one that didn’t require an operator to ride along, and Marasi hit the ‘ascend’ button once they were inside.

The doors of the elevator closed in front of them, and the rumble of the machinery started up as they ascended. For a few moments, they stood in silence as the floors ticked up.

Marasi looked at MeLaan.

MeLaan looked at Marasi.

Then, simultaneously, they both broke down laughing.

“What in the _pits_ just happened?!” MeLaan wheezed, practically doubled over. “Where did he _come from?!_ ”

“I d-don’t know!” Marasi choked out in between laughs. “Why- d-did he steal- his _hat?!_ ”

“And! He reacted like- ha! _Like this had happened before!”_

_“How many times has he had his hat stolen?!”_

_“And who even says-”_

“‘Bally-hoo’?!”

They made eye contact, then broke down in fresh peals of laughter. 

It wasn’t until the last of her laughter had faded away that Marasi realised that MeLaan hadn’t let go of her hand. Under the guise of rubbing at her eyes, she pulled it out, trying to ignore how comforting the contact had been. Thankfully, MeLaan hadn’t noticed - intermittent giggles still slipped from her throat as she leant her head back against the elevator wall, eyes closed. She looked so alive, so _vibrant_ in that moment that Marasi wanted to take a photograph and keep it forever, paint a painting and hang it on her wall - anything, so long as she could ensure she’d never forget the sight of her amused half-smile, the crinkle of laugh lines around her eyes, the slender line of her neck where her posture exposed it, the small hollow at the base of her throat-

Marasi realised she was staring, and hastily averted her eyes.

“Ohh, man.” MeLaan wiped a few tears away, grinning up at the ceiling. “Wow. I _really_ needed that. Thanks, big guy.”

It took Marasi a moment to realise MeLaan wasn’t addressing her. “Wait, you think Harmony was responsible for that?”

“Well, from a certain point of view, Harmony’s responsible for _everything_ that happens. I don’t think he _specifically_ intervened then to make a beggar steal a man’s hat, no, but we get to exist in a world where things like that happen, and I think that’s pretty special.”

“Huh,” Marasi said, mulling it over. “That’s actually rather-”

“ _And_ ,” MeLaan added, a cheeky grin sneaking its way onto her face, “I know it _really_ irritates Harmony.”

Marasi rolled her eyes. “ _Insufferable_ ,” she said.

And, for the first time that evening, she didn’t really mean it.

* * *

Compared to some of the parties Marasi had been to, Lady Kelesina had staged something fairly restrained. The ballroom was carpeted and adorned with golden chandeliers—though their candleholders glowed with electric lights. The ceiling wasn’t terribly high, but the walls were colorfully decorated with false archways that each held a mural. Classical pieces, like the Ascendant Warrior rising above a flock of ravens—the typical depiction of the Lord Ruler’s wraiths, of whom only Death himself remained.

Which, admittedly, was all fairly gaudy, but it was restrained comparatively speaking. Some of the stunts Marasi had seen back in Elendel had left her faith in humanity permanently damaged.

A few musicians played on a raised stage; a bare-bones string section plus a pianist and percussionist, while guests twirled slowly around a small dancefloor. The current piece was something she vaguely recognised - she hadn’t touched a cello since she’d graduated high school, but some things stuck around. 

Thankfully, Steris had been right about the fashions - MeLaan’s modified dress fit in perfectly with some of the hemlines Marasi could see in the crowd. Her upbringing wanted her to look down on the women wearing them for their looseness, but she firmly quashed those thoughts down. 

(It had become much easier to do so once she’d realised that the voice they were said in sounded a lot more like her father’s than it did her own).

“This Prune fellow,” MeLaan said as they surveyed the crowd, “you know what he looks like?” 

Marasi nodded. “Fig, not Prune, but yes, Steris had a photograph of him in her dossier. Short, thin, and a black beard with-” she drew out the shape on her own face, swirled cutouts descending from the cheekbones. “Whatever you’d call that.”

“I’d call that horrendous,” MeLaan muttered. She stuck her head above the crowd, going up on her toes in a motion that made her chest move in an extremely distracting way. “Can’t see him, but if he’s short…”

“Don’t!” Marasi hissed, grabbing her arm and tugging her back down. “I already look strange enough; don’t draw _more_ attention to us.”

“What do you mean, strange?” MeLaan said, irritated. “There’s at least two dozen people here wearing the exact same outfit.”

“ _Yes,_ MeLaan, two dozen _men_. Which I am _visibly_ not.”

As if to emphasise the point, a low whistle came from behind them, and Marasi turned around to find a man with a trim mustache giving her a once-over.

“Shoot, Mara,” he said, and she unclenched her fist as she recognised Wayne’s voice. “New style, huh? Lookin’ pur-retty f-”

“ _No_ , Wayne,” Marasi said tiredly, already knowing how his sentence ended.

“Fair ‘nough,” he said with a shrug. “Hey, Mel.”

“Hey, Wayne. Like the mustache.”

He puckered his lips, making it wrinkle. “Good, innit? Traded for it from a fellow what had no hair on his-”

“-and _that_ is all we need to hear of that story,” Marasi cut in over him. “For all our mental health. Where’s Waxillium?”

“Off snoopin’ with the missus.” His tone of voice made it clear what he thought of that, but whether his disdain was for Wax ‘snooping’ without him, or just for Steris, wasn’t clear. Knowing Wayne, it was likely both. “I’m keepin’ an eye on that information broker feller, makin’ sure he don’t try any funny business.”

“Has he?” MeLaan asked.

“Well, he keeps talkin’ to the fish, which is pretty funny t’me, but nah.” Without looking, he reached out and snagged a drink from the tray of a passing waiter, and offered it to Marasi. “You should try this, by the way. Good stuff, when you add a bit of kick.” A battered silver flask appeared in his free hand, which he also offered.

“Thank you,” Marasi said, taking the drink but refusing the flask. The drink inside was carbonated and slightly yellow-tinged, and when she took a sip she found it surprisingly sweet and acidic.

“That’s… not bad,” she admitted, while MeLaan took a quick swig from Wayne’s flask. “Sparkling lemonade?”

“Sparkling lemonade,” he confirmed, taking the flask back from MeLaan and adding a generous pour to another glass, which Marasi hadn’t actually seen him acquire. 

She glanced at it, concerned. 

_You call this ‘keeping an eye on him’, Wax?_

“Wayne,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t you think you’ve been drinking a bit much lately?”

His eyes went wide. “M-mum?” he whispered, awed.

“What? I’m- not your mother, Wayne.”

“Exactly,” he said, humour dropping away in an instant. “So stop actin’ it.” He drained the rest of his glass. “Now, if you’ll _excuse_ me, I’s got some fish-talking to watch.”

He disappeared back into the crowd, and Marasi looked at MeLaan, confused. 

“What was _that?!_ ”

MeLaan pursed her lips. “Cut him a bit of slack, I think. He’s dealing with some stuff.”

“Wait, you know what’s wrong?”

“I… have a pretty good guess. Not my place to speculate, though, especially if I’m right.”

Well, that was... worrying. “If it gets bad…?”

“-I’ll say something,” MeLaan reassured her. “Now, come on, let’s find our Date fellow.”

“ _Fig_ ,” Marasi corrected, knowing full well MeLaan was just doing it to annoy her but being unable to hold herself back.

“Sure, Mulberry, that’s what I said.” She went up on her toes above the crowd again, and once more Marasi tugged her back down.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she repeated. “We have to be subtle, _please_. If the staff see us acting weird, they might kick us out, and if _he_ sees us we might spook him off.”

“Okay, yes,” MeLaan acknowledged, “but we have to look _somehow_. Do you suggest we…” she trailed off, attention suddenly focused elsewhere. “Wait, nevermind, I’ve got it.”

“You found him?”

“No, but I know _how_ to.” She started moving through the crowd, gesturing for Marasi to follow. 

“Okay… how?”

MeLaan stopped, spinning around to face her with a cheeky smile on her face, and Marasi realised they’d arrived at the edge of-

“Will you, Marasi Colms,” MeLaan said, faux-courtly as she offered her hand up, “do me the honour of this dance?”

“W-what?” Marasi squeaked, cheeks flaming. 

“Good way to look around and move to different angles without seeming suspicious,” she said. “You… _do_ know how to dance, right?”

“You _do_ know how I grew up, right?” Marasi countered absently. Objectively speaking, it was a good idea - she could see the logic behind what MeLaan was saying. 

Unfortunately, at that exact moment she wasn’t feeling particularly objective.

The previous piece drew to a close, strings drawing out their final notes, and there was a brief smattering of applause. MeLaan was still waiting, hand outstretched, and she inclined her head, as if to say “Well?”.

Marasi bit her lip, then reached out and took MeLaan’s hand. 

Maybe MeLaan could sense her hesitation, because instead of making a joke like Marasi had expected, she just smiled gently, and swept them both out onto the floor as the next piece picked up.

At first, Marasi stumbled across the floor, barely avoiding crashing into the other dancers. Partially, it was that she was out of practice - about the time she’d started at university, her father had given up on any chance of a prosperous marriage from her and had stopped forcing her to attend balls.

Mostly, though, it was that MeLaan’s hand on her hip was incredibly distracting.

Not in a _bad_ way. Or, well- Marasi didn’t know _how_ to quantify how she felt about it. Everything in her head was all jumbled up and melted together in her head when it came to MeLaan, and concentrating on the case was the only thing keeping her from spiralling down that path in a mess of over-analysis and panic. MeLaan’s touch as they twirled across the floor was gentle and comforting, but it was _very_ similar to the way she’d held her earlier that evening, and try as she might, Marasi couldn’t stop the association from bubbling back up. She simultaneously wanted to shy away from the other woman, and lean into her, and those opposing instincts had her feet nearly coming out from underneath her more than a few times.

Eventually, though, after a few minutes and more than a few awkward stumbles, the steps at least started to come back to her, and they settled into a rhythm.

_Like riding a velocipede; you never really forget._

“A what-now?” 

Mortifyingly, Marasi realised she’d spoken the thought out loud. “Nothing,” she blurted hastily. “Just- it doesn’t matter.”

She felt as much as heard MeLaan’s chuckle, the vibrations travelling down through all the tiny points of contact between them. “It’s not an interrogation, Mara,” MeLaan said gently. “I was just curious, is all.”

“R-right,” Marasi said, and then it was time for a twirl. (MeLaan had effortlessly stepped into the leading parts, which made sense, considering she’d probably had to disguise herself as a man more than a few times).

“Spot him yet?” Marasi asked as she drew back in.

“Not yet,” MeLaan replied. “I’ll try and move us over to the other side. These fancy modern dances make that _way_ harder than the classics, I gotta say.”

“Oh, that’s right. You would have learned at balls in the Final Empire, wouldn’t you?” Marasi sighed ruefully. “This must all seem quite drab in comparison, I suppose.”

“Eh,” MeLaan shrugged. “Not really.”

“Not really? It was the Final Empire! The Age of Gods!”

“Yeah,” she countered as they spun around, “it was the _Final_ Empire, meaning that it was very dark and grey and full of ash. And I never liked that ‘Age of Gods’ thing, anyway. They were people, just like you or me. They bickered, they argued, they had gross bodily functions, all that nonsense. They did extraordinary things, but that wasn’t something inherent to them. They weren’t gods, and calling them that diminishes what they managed to achieve as people. But,” she sighed dramatically, “I guess people love a good bit of mysticism.”

“Huh.” Marasi digested that as she scanned the crowd. Still no sign of Templeton. “Is it really that much better now?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” MeLaan chuckled. The song came to an end, and they bowed to each other before the next one started up, in a slightly faster tempo. “Everything’s so… _colourful_ now.” 

Her gaze had gone distant, lost in memory, and Marasi couldn’t have torn her eyes from the moment of unexpected vulnerability if the Survivor himself had burst into the room and ordered it. 

“I don’t think anyone alive can truly appreciate what it was like before, with the ashfall covering everything. Even inside, dyes were a lot rarer and harder to manufacture.” She smiled wistfully. “One of my first memories after the Catacendre is lying in a field and staring up at the sky from sunrise to sunset, without blinking once . It was so... _impossibly_ blue that I was convinced that if I looked away for even a second, it would be grey again when I looked back.”

“MeLaan…” 

“Anyway!” The moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Marasi couldn’t shake the soft, unguarded expression from her mind. “If nothing else, you’d never get something like that lemonade back then, and in my mind, that makes it all worth it.”

The mask had come back, but this time Marasi didn’t push.

“Well,” she said, letting the moment pass. “I guess I know to be grateful for lemonade, then.”

The look MeLaan shot her was full of barely-disguised relief. Marasi had the strange sense that MeLaan had just revealed something very personal, something that she had told very few people, and the knowledge that she’d entrusted Marasi with it made her feel funny down in her stomach. 

The next step pulled them in close together, and Marasi realised she’d stopped noticing MeLaan’s touch at some point, relaxing into the contact. She felt… _comfortable,_ having her close, in a way she’d never really felt with another person.

They made eye contact, and a shiver ran down Marasi’s spine. MeLaan’s pupils were dilated, eyes hooded, her lips slightly parted, and Marasi thought that if she just... leaned in slightly-

“There!” a voice said suddenly, and Marasi realised after a second that it was hers. Through the crowd, she’d spotted a glimpse of their target, and she’d called it out without thinking. “Over by the bar, I’ve spotted him.”

When she turned back, MeLaan’s face had returned to normal, expression carefully neutral. The moment of almost… almost-something went into a box in Marasi’s mind, which she labelled Do Not Touch and shoved to the back.

“Oh, yeah,” MeLaan said, then cleared her throat, “I see him. So,” she continued, echoing her words from earlier, “what’s the plan?”

This time, though, Marasi already had an answer for her. 

* * *

“Good evening, Mr. Fig,” Marasi said smoothly. “My name is Marasi Colms - I’m with the Elendel constabulary. I have a couple of questions, if you’d be so kind.”

Templeton Fig scoffed, looking down his nose at her. He was standing with a few other unassuming-looking men, who had drawn away slightly at Marasi’s approach. “Last time I checked, _Miss Colms,_ we weren’t _in_ Elendel. I’ve got nothing to say to you…” He trailed off, eyes dragging down her body and back up again. “ _Unless,_ there’s something in it for me?”

Marasi grit her teeth. “I only need a few minutes of your time, sir, and then you’ll never hear from me again.”

“And I,” he crooned, leaning in, “only need a few minutes of _yours,_ sweetheart.”

“Mr. Fig,” she said carefully, “this is the easy option. I suggest you take it.”

“I’m sure,” he sneered, losing interest now that it was clear she wasn’t going to go along with his ‘idea’. “Run along now, _Constable._ ”

“It’s Captain, actually,” Marasi said, giving him a humourless smile. “And remember, I did warn you.”

He laughed, and in the instant his eyes were closed, Marasi dropped a tiny speed bubble around herself. Any object that touched a bubble was affected by it, so when she positioned it to barely intersect with the tip of his toe, he was fully caught in its effect.

The crowd blurred around them for the half-second before Marasi dropped the bubble. And, more importantly, MeLaan was now standing directly behind him.

“Oh _Temple~ton,_ ” she sing-songed into his ear.

Templeton yelped like a startled dog, spilling his drink on himself as he spun around to face her. 

MeLaan caught him by the wrist, holding him in place effortlessly. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” she said sweetly.

“How _dare_ you!” Templeton spat in her face. “I’ll-”

MeLaan let the flesh of her face go transparent for just a second, revealing the skeleton underneath.

Templeton froze. “Wh- you-”

“That’s right, Templeton. Harmony has a few questions for you.”

Templeton gulped, but rallied the last vestiges of his courage. “I’ll call the guards-”

“You will?” MeLaan said, in a perfect imitation of Templeton’s voice. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe they can drag this imposter out of here.” For a moment, her face swirled and shifted, mirroring his appearance before reverting back. The movement of muscle and skin over bone was still disturbing to watch, but Marasi found she was starting to get used to it.

Templeton took a step back, eyes wide. “Y-you’re not- my clothes- you can’t-”

MeLaan made a show of inspecting the nails of one hand. “Templeton, darling. You have _no_ idea what I can and can’t do.”

He squeaked. “Please… I’ll do whatever you want. Please don’t kill me.”

“Smart man,” MeLaan said approvingly. “You have something that belongs to us. A metal spike.”

He paled. “N-no…”

“Oh, _yes_. It’s rather important, you see, and we’d quite like it back. So all you have to do is tell us where it is, and we’ll be out of your life.”

“D-dulsing!” he stammered out quickly. “They h-had me send it to Dulsing! Via courier! Please, it was j-just a bit of metal, I d-didn’t know!”

“There’s a good lad,” MeLaan said gently, patting him on the cheek. He whimpered at the contact, shying away. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Fig.” 

She went to walk off, giving it just long enough for Templeton to start to relax, and then stopped, turning back around.

“Oh, and Templeton?”

The noise he made couldn’t be rightfully categorised as anything but a squeak.

“The constabulary would _love_ to speak with you tomorrow morning.” A grin stretched across her face, and then _kept_ stretching, unnaturally wide. “Don’t go disappointing them, hm?”

She winked, and Marasi hit him with another speed bubble, making it look like she’d disappeared into thin air.

“Mr. Fig?” she asked, trying to keep a smile off her face.

He spun around to face her, eyes wide and bloodshot. “You-!” he exclaimed frantically. “You s-saw that too, right?!”

“Saw what?” Marasi said, acting confused. “We were talking, and then you just froze for a good ten seconds. Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”

Somehow, his face paled even further. “N-no,” he stammered, “no, there was- you were-”

“Should I call a doctor?”

He stared at her for a moment, and then frantically strode off, muttering feverishly to himself. 

When Marasi found MeLaan by the bar a few minutes later, she was swirling a glass of lemonade around, smug as the cat that ate the canary.

“So?” she asked smugly.

Marasi couldn’t help but smile, tipping an imaginary hat. “An excellent bit of acting.”

“ _Merci, merci_.” She mimed toasting her glass, then took a sip. “Ahh. So, Dulsing.”

“Dulsing,” Marasi confirmed. “Not much out that way, but at least we know where to look next.” She leant against the bar next to her, looking out over the room. “Once Lord Waxillium gets back, I think we can call that a successful night.”  
“That we can,” MeLaan agreed.

For a few minutes, they didn’t speak, just watching the ebb and flow of the crowd. The evening had been an emotional one, for sure, but they’d ended on a high note, and Marasi let the excitement of a job well done buoy her into finally doing what she knew she had to.

“MeLaan,” she said. “I’m sorry. Truly, this time.”

The other woman paused mid-sip, turning to face her with a carefully-neutral expression. “Sorry for what?”

“For- _everything._ ” Marasi steeled herself, and powered on forward. “For everything I said, _and_ for that half-hearted apology. I was only thinking about myself, and I just made things worse. I’m sorry for- for saying you were only pretending, for judging you, for insulting your acting, for- everything. I’m sorry for everything.”

MeLaan breathed out slowly. “...thank you, Marasi,” she said, quiet but sincere. “Apology accepted. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I _was_ being a bit of a brat about some of that stuff, and I should’ve been… a bit more considerate of what else you had going on at first, instead of assuming it was all about me.”

Marasi frowned. _What is_ that _supposed to mean?_

Before she could ask, MeLaan stuck out a hand. “So. We were both being stupid and immature, but now we know better. Friends?”

“...are we friends, now?” Marasi asked, carefully taking it in her own. Her hands were smooth and soft, and she suppressed a shiver.

“I like to think it can be an aspirational commitment,” MeLaan grinned, back to her old self immediately. “Unless, of course, you had something else in mind…?”

Marasi gaped at her, wide-eyed. It was a joke, it was _obviously_ a joke, but all she could think about was MeLaan’s hands cupping her face, the warmth of her lips against Marasi’s own, the sight of her flushed with exertion, pupils dilated.

The humour drained from MeLaan’s face, replaced with naked shock. 

_Friends!_ Marasi wanted to scream. _Yes, we can be friends, we don’t need to be anything else, we don’t need to talk about this anymore, just laugh it off and_ just say it! 

“Marasi-” MeLaan started carefully.

And then, as if on cue, a woman in a waiter’s outfit burst through the door, clothes covered in blood.

“H-he killed her!” she screamed over the chorus of murmurs. “Lord Ladrian k-killed Lady Kelesina!”

Later, after they’d let the flow of panicked guests carry them out the exit, after they’d slipped away to hurry back to the hotel without a single word exchanged, Marasi would feel guilty for her reaction. 

But in that single moment, she had never been more glad to hear that someone had been murdered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s okay marasi she was a dick
> 
> hoo boy this ended up being a big one. when i sat down to 'finish' it it was only 2500 hundred words. which i know is not a lot! but im a very slow writer so 2000 more words in a night is pretty impressive for me!
> 
> notes:  
> \- obligatory hoid cameo - you know i had to do it to em. i love the idea of hoid just hanging around a place for months at a time just to irritate one specific person - the wit persona had to come from SOMEWHERE  
> \- they didn't attend the party in the original book but i dont think i have to explain why i wanted them here. if you know you know.  
> \- yes im just taunting you with the almost kisses at this point. wont even try and deny it  
> \- where im at with two women dancing together is that there would definitely be comments and i imagine that if they'd stuck around much longer it probably wouldn't have been great but i. really didnt want to write that lol. so p much they're probably getting subtle stinkeye during most of that scene and just didn't notice cause they're Gay  
> \- i know that in the book there’s jazz musicians playing at the party but i can’t reconcile jazz being new enough that most people havent heard of it but still being played at an upper class party. like i dont even know how to begin to try and figure out the racial history in the context of scadrial - obviously black people invented jazz, but how does that translate across? obviously sanderson didnt think about that and just included it as a signifier of the equivalent time period but like. the only racial dynamic we really know about is the terris peoples and then everyone else, so like. the point is that the history of jazz is incredibly politic and having it played at a fancy upper class party (in a fictional nation that seems to be primarily white) feels… weird. to me. weird and bad.  
> \- also i wanted them to slow dance sue me  
> \- next chapter is gonna be the end of what im calling 'act 1', which doesnt like mean anything structurally but you'll know why when we get there  
> \- OH SHIT WE'RE AT THE HALFWAY MARK I JUST REALISED. LETS GO LESBIAAAAAAANSSS


	10. Natural As Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Self-hatred is only ever a seed planted from outside in. But when you do that to a child, it becomes a weed so thick, and it grows so fast, the child doesn’t know any different. It becomes… as **natural as gravity.**  
>  When I came out of the closet, I didn’t have any jokes. The only thing I knew how to do was to be invisible and hate myself.
> 
> \- Hannah Gadsby, _Nanette_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW: mild internalised homophobia**  
>  (some of Marasi’s internal monologue is not particularly pleasant about gayness. no slurs or anything but some pretty demeaning language. if you don’t want to read that, skip forward once you get to the line ‘‘Her thoughts came to a screeching halt." until the line that starts "-and then, unbidden," )

“For what it’s worth,” Marasi said, “I really _am_ sorry.”

“We _know_ ,” Wayne groused from where he lay in the shade of their carriage. “‘Sorry’ don’t fix wheels, Mara.”

“I _know_ that,” she snapped back at him. “I’m just- oh, why am I even bothering?” She stood up from the suitcase she’d been sitting on, brushing off her rear.

“If we ends up in jail,” Wayne called after her as she left the shaded side of the carriage, “s’gonna be your fault!”

“At this point,” she countered irritatedly, “I’d _take_ a prison stay over listening to more of your complaining.”

Wayne scoffed. “Spoken like someone who never went to prison.”

“That is _not_ the counter-argument you think it is.”

Wayne yelled something back in response, but she’d gone far enough around the carriage to easily tune it out.

They’d left New Seran under cover over darkness the previous night, the thick mists shrouding their escape. Marasi, Wayne and MeLaan had arrived back at their suite just in time for Wax and Steris to come climbing in through one of the windows, his face grim but hers glowing with barely-disguised joy (who knew that _Steris_ of all people would turn out to be a thrill-seeker?). Obviously, none of them had assumed Wax had actually killed Lady Kelesina in cold blood, but it was good to have confirmation. 

Aunt Gin hadn’t handled it _particularly_ well, especially when Steris specified to use the ‘framed for murder’ part of her binder, but thankfully they had left before she’d gotten over her utter bemusement and called the constabulary, essentials crammed into a carriage MeLaan _acquired_ through means that they all pointedly didn’t ask about. 

(In a fit of conscience, Marasi had left behind enough money to cover the purchase of the clocks. It had done some unpleasant things to her mental pocketbook, but one did things because they were _right_ , not because they were convenient).

(Even if it meant she’d have to spend a month or two living off of beans and rice when the dust had settled).

With MeLaan forgoing sleep to drive the horses, they’d ridden through the night, quickly leaving the paved streets of the city behind in favour of the dusty flatlands that bridged the gap between the city and the mountains ringing the edge of the Basin. Wax’s eavesdropping had confirmed that ReLuur’s spike was in the Set’s hands now, so with their two goals now firmly in alignment, they’d decided that Wax’s rumoured dig site was the better option to investigate first. Considering that the purported site was in Dulsing’s locality, it was a fairly safe bet that Dulsing had merely been a convenient relay point, rather than the intended destination - but, if it was, then they could proceed there afterwards.

Marasi had anticipated having trouble falling asleep, head abuzz with adrenaline and troubling thoughts that were only partially to do with their fugitive status. Exhaustion had won out quickly, though, and she’d been out like a log through until morning.

Her neck hadn’t been happy with her, unfortunately, and as the sun had risen over the dusty flats, the pain proved portentous of the day to come.

Initially, the rattling of the carriage and the dry taste of dust in the air had been exciting - combined with Wax’s slouched posture on the opposite seat, it had really felt like she’d fallen into one of the pulp novels she’d adored when she was young (and, admittedly, when she was not-so-young). The novelty had worn off quickly, though, a process that had been hastened by the presence of Steris leaning against Wax’s side, still in her lacy white dress, snoring ungracefully with a tiny strand of saliva slipping out of the corner of her mouth. Marasi would have ordinarily been mortified, but the matching string she could see under the brim of Wax’s hat pushed it all the way through ‘embarrassing’ and out the other side, and she’d had to suppress a fit of giggles when she’d noticed it. 

They were quite the pair, she had thought fondly to herself. No pang of jealousy had filled her chest, no resentment bubbled up towards her sister. Well and truly, she found herself happy for them - if any negativity had entered her head, it had been that she wanted something like that for herself. 

Which, of course, had then lead to thinking about… The Issue. The one she had been desperately trying to avoid and not quite succeeding, the box shoved to the back of her mind straining at the seams and threatening to burst open. In order to distract herself, she’d started inspecting the strange cube from the train more closely, finding the switch and intuiting what its basic capabilities might be from Wax’s description of being Leeched by one, leading to her unthinkingly attempting to replicate the effect.

Unfortunately, regardless of the cube’s properties, activating a speed bubble on a moving vehicle still had consequences. _And_ , unlike a train, their carriage didn’t have enough mass to just shrug off the jolt it had caused.

The horse had spooked, of course, which could have been quite bad if MeLaan had lost control of them - they could have torn the yokes apart, or merely just dragged the carriage in a random direction or in circles. 

That ended up being a moot point, however, because with a crack like a gunshot, one of the carriage’s axles had sheared apard, collapsing it at an awkward angle and sending the wheel rolling away a good few feet before it finally wobbled and fell. 

So now, they were stuck in the middle of the plain under the burning noonday sun, with a broken wheel, limited food and water, and the threat of pursuit looming behind them.

And it was extremely, undeniably, all Marasi’s fault.

Which was _not_ doing great things for her self-esteem.

She rounded the corner of their carriage to the sun-facing side, Wayne’s not-entirely-unjustified commentary following behind her. A few suitcases had served to prop up the carriage to a level, while they attempted to fix it. 

‘They’, in this case, meant the exact person Marasi was trying to avoid.

“Hey Mara,” MeLaan grunted from her position underneath the carriage. “Think I’ve almost got it.”

The kandra woman was lying on her back in the dirt, the top half of her body hidden by the carriage. One leg stuck out straight, while the other was bent with the foot planted on the ground - presumably for leverage, judging by the intermittent grunts of exertion she was letting out. Every single one of the sounds hit Marasi like a physical blow and left her reeling, but her feet felt like they were made of lead or rooted to the ground like trees. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, MeLaan’s exertions regularly pulled her shirt up away from the waistband of her pants, exposing a thin strip of her stomach and abdomen. It drew Marasi’s eyes like a Pull, inexorable and irresistible, every time the cosmere decided to punish her and bring it into view.

She wanted to reach out and run her fingers over it, wanted to feel the play of the muscles under the fat and sinew, wanted to feel the warmth of skin against her own-

She jerked her head back like she’d been struck, dragging her gaze away.

Wanted to be _literally anywhere else in the world_ right then. 

“Mara?” MeLaan’s head popped out from underneath the carriage to peer up at her. It was the same face as the first day, when she’d come to Marasi’s apartment, with the strong jawline and the blonde hair. 

It was also currently sweaty and flushed with exertion.

“You okay?” MeLaan asked, eyes filled with gentle concern. “Lizard got your tongue?”

Marasi whipped her head away, staring off towards the mountains in the distance. “F-fine! Great, good, fantastic, the sooner the better.” She fanned herself, and tried to pretend it was just the sun causing it. “Heat’s getting to me, I think.”

“Ah, sure. That’s what you humans get for being seventy percent water.”

A comment about the fact that the kandra was _sweating_ died on her tongue. _Don’t, don’t think about it-_

“I’m-” she rasped instead. “Go. Over there.” _What is_ wrong _with you?! You_ know _how to talk, you idiot! You sound like a dimwitted child!_

MeLaan clucked her tongue, oblivious to the litany of panic and self-loathing running through Marasi’s head. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good. Maybe drink some water, sit in the shade?” Marasi could hear her scuffling around as she slid back underneath the carriage. “Oh, and maybe let Wax know. We should get going again as soon as I’ve got this fixed up.”

“Right,” Marasi said, relieved to have a concrete reason to leave. “Yes. Will do.”

Then the sounds of exertion started up again, and Marasi practically ran away before she actually _did_ faint. 

Wax had wandered off shortly after they’d stopped, taking the cube with him. Marasi could see him in the distance, partially obscured by the heat-haze, and began to make her way over to him. She was still wearing her shirt from the previous night, and while it was sweaty and uncomfortable, her undershirt was sleeveless, and she had absolutely no interest in dealing with sunburn the following day. 

As she drew closer, a faint noise she’d been hearing for a while resolved itself into the crack of gunfire, which provided the necessary context for her to recognise his odd posture as a firing stance, smoke curling from Vindication’s barrel.

“Did you see something?!” Marasi called over, glancing around to try and spot whatever he’d been shooting at. 

Wax glanced over his shoulder, spotting her. “Ah, no, sorry.” He thumbed Vindication’s hammer, looking chagrined. “Was doing some tests with the cube. Should’ve realised what it’d seem like.”

Sure enough, after a few seconds Marasi was able to make out the dull grey of metal against the red-orange dirt. “What sort of tests? How long it lasts, the relative strength of the output compared to how much metal you burn?”

“More like ‘can I toss it, then use the Push to curve a bullet’.”

“Oh,” Marasi said. “Right. I suppose that’s a bit more immediately practical. Can you, then?”

“I think the theory’s sound; it’s definitely affecting the trajectory. Just haven’t quite got the trick of it yet.”

“Hm.” Marasi worried her lip as she thought, mapping out the angles in her head. _I knew those forensic ballistics courses would come in handy someday._ “Are you waiting for it to land, then shooting?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And the Push gets stronger closer to it, like a normal one?”

“Think so.”

“Okay…” She walked over and picked up the cube, inspecting it as her mind worked. “What if…” she said, tossing it up and down in her hand, “you threw the cube, and then fired while it was still in the air? Like that trick you pulled against the Vanishers.”

Wax considered it. “That… might work. The timing on it will be tricky, though; I’ll have to hold it for a bit longer to wait out the delay. Although I suppose that’s not much different from cooking a grenade…” 

Marasi smiled, and tossed him the cube. He caught it one-handed, already deep in thought. “I’ll leave you to it, then, but don’t take too long. MeLaan says she’s almost got the carriage fixed.”

He nodded. “I’ll be over in a few.”

It was good, she thought as she trudged back the way she’d come, that he was able to find some use for the device, something that might truly give him - _them_ \- an edge.

Of course she’d been excited when they’d figured out what the cube did, of _course_ she had. At first brush, it seemed perfectly tailored to her allomancy, a way to make her actually _useful_ beyond speeding up the wait for a play.

The more she’d thought about it, though, the more flaws started to pop up.

She could throw the cube and trap others in the bubble, but then the cube was _also_ stuck in there with them. It was a one-use tool, which was basically what her cadmium was already - it was actually _more_ inconvenient for use in arresting people, because she had to wait around in real time for backup to arrive. It wasn’t useless by any means, but it wasn’t the magic bullet that she’d naively thought it was either. 

It was... _multiplicative,_ that was it _._ Sure, it gave her metal more use and versatility, but it could _also_ give that advantage to a metal that was already useful, as Waxillium was already demonstrating. 

Which was- good. Great. _Fantastic_. Another way for Waxillium to be even more devastatingly effective than he already was. It might end up saving her life - almost _certainly_ would - so she had no right to feel bitter about it.

Marasi had found herself feeling _many_ things she had no right to, these last few days. 

When she returned to the carriage, she found it sitting pretty on its own four wheels, the horses led back and hitched up to the yoke once more, MeLaan back on her feet.

She was talking with Steris, a combination unusual enough that it made Marasi do a double-take. Then again, before this trip MeLaan talking to Marasi had _also_ been an unusual occurrence, so apparently it was simply the done thing these days.

Steris was doing most of the talking, gesturing with her ever-present notebook in tightly-controlled but passionate movements in that very uniquely Steris way, with MeLaan mostly nodding along or making small comments. Unlike most people who talked to Steris when she was like this, MeLaan actually seemed to be genuinely interested and engaged. It was so rare for Steris to actually open up like that, rarer still that the other person didn’t react poorly to it, and Marasi felt a warm swell of fondness in her chest towards the kandra woman.

 _She really is surprisingly kind, underneath all the… MeLaan-ness._ Which wasn’t a criticism, necessarily - Marasi wouldn’t have liked her nearly as much without her eccentricities, but the secret core of gentle kindness underneath them was unexpectedly a-

Marasi growled under her breath, smacking her forehead with a palm as if she could physically force the train of thought out of her head. 

Acknowledging someone’s attractiveness didn’t mean that she found them attractive anyway! MeLaan was _obviously_ attractive, beyond just the physical sense, but that didn’t mean Marasi was- 

It didn’t mean anything. She thought plenty of people were attractive, that was just part of life! As if to test herself, she called up Lord Waxillium in her mind’s eye, trying to evoke some sort of response, to illustrate the difference between the intellectual and the emotional.

He was handsome, undoubtedly. And clever, and surprisingly kind. But all Marasi felt when she thought about him now was a detached appreciation of his features, and a sense of fondness for her friend. 

Had she ever even felt more than that? Her ‘attraction’ to him had faded as she got to know him better as a person, as opposed to an ideal, heroic figure, but now she was questioning whether it had ever been attraction at all, as opposed to just-

Admiration? _Jealousy?_

She immediately scoffed at the latter thought. She didn’t want to _be_ Wax, that was ridiculous. She just wanted-

-be _like_ him. She wanted to be respected, and talented, and capable. She wanted to be able to act without having to worry about others’ expectations, to appear how she wanted to appear, to not have to go on dates and enter relationships just because they were what she was Supposed To Do-

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

_What was_ that _supposed to mean?!_ She reviewed her own train of thought frantically, trying to source exactly where it had bubbled up from. Sure, she hadn’t wanted to be courted by men from other noble houses, but that was just because she didn’t like having the choice taken away from her. It wasn’t _because_ they were men. 

She wasn’t- _like that._ She was _normal._

It wasn’t that she had a _problem_ with- those people. She never judged Ranette for it, had she? But she wasn’t one of them, she was _normal._ She had made a _great deal of effort_ to be normal, in fact. To have that taken away from her, by something completely out of her control-

_No._

No, it didn’t matter! 

It would only matter if it was true, which it _wasn’t_ -

The noise of a door clattering shut pulled Marasi out of her head, and she turned just in time to see MeLaan returning from the carriage to where Steris sat. 

The kandra woman handed something over, which Steris received gratefully, and then noticed Marasi, giving her a little wink before turning back to the conversation.

Marasi’s mouth went dry, heat pooling in her belly. It was just a _wink_ , why was it affecting her so much?! Why was _MeLaan_ affecting her so much? It wasn’t like she’d had this sort of reaction to other women before-

 _But you were never_ around _other women,_ a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. _You always found it_ uncomfortable, _didn’t you? Why, exactly, was that?_

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath. “Just- stop it.”

_If you wanted to be around them so badly, what stopped you?_

“Because I _knew_!” she wanted to shout. “Because I _knew_ that I wasn’t- that I wasn’t like them, and it made it _so hard_ to be normal, and I had to be normal! I _had_ to be normal because I couldn’t have yet _another_ thing weighing against me! Because it was going to be hard enough to make something of myself as a woman, as a Pulser, as a bastard, without being a _deviant_ as well-”

-and then, unbidden, she thought of the way MeLaan had looked in the elevator, the way her hand had felt holding Marasi’s hip, the softness of her lips against Marasi's own, and almost had to sit down from how much it affected her.

Which seemed… pretty conclusive.

“It’s- fine,” Marasi muttered desperately to herself, “this is fine, you’re fine, it doesn’t mean anything.” 

After all, it was only MeLaan, right? And MeLaan wasn’t _really_ -

...no, Marasi admitted to herself. She knew better than that. 

Their argument, and the aftermath, had made it extremely, undeniably clear that MeLaan was a woman.

And now it was extremely, undeniably clear that Marasi was attracted to her.

“...well, _fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And THAT is why it’s the end of act 1. we have exited Just Good Friends Station, next stop, Gay Panic Central. obliviousness is fun but it cant last forever (;
> 
> notes:  
> \- KNEW it was a good idea to hold back the one ‘fuck’. absolutely worth it.  
> \- dont know how ‘possible’ it is but in my head MeLaan is cold welding the bar back together by surrounding it with a little bubble of flesh and then drawing all the air out to create a vacuum. if thats impossible physics people then she’s just producing a chemical bonding agent or some shit idk  
> \- sorry this ended up being such a narrate-y chapter, its just how the metal flakes sometimes (see what i did there). there’ll be more action soon so i figure it balances out, but its mostly just trying to strike a balance between ‘this fic obviously exists only in the context of BoM and a familiarity with its plot can be assumed as default’ and ‘id really like this to be readable on its own without having to brush up on BoM first cause god knows i sure didnt before writing it’  
> \- [sees you looking at the character tags and waggles my eyebrows] its not exactly a spoiler that a BoM fic involves Telsin to some degree but unsurprisingly i have Plans. Gay Plans.  
> \- not specifically gay about telsin its just that all of my plans are gay by definition  
> \- i AM gay about telsin but thats unrelated  
> \- i dont remember if melaan turning into a horse was actually canon or just a fever dream i had but. Don’t Like That.  
> \- as i was writing this i realised that i dont actually know for sure that marasi is the younger sibling? but we know steris is 30 as of BoM and i think its highly unlikely that Marasi is older than that so in my head she’s like. 26. anyway Siblings! i do not have half-siblings so i cant speak to that specifically but in general sibling relationships can be so fucking crunchy  
> \- although ngl just based on his writing i assumed branderson was an only child but he’s actually the oldest of four? wild  
> \- i dont think we’ll be diving much more into the ~~catholic~~ survivorist guilt aspect much deeper than this in this fic, just bc of the short timeframe. in the sequel fic, though, which as of writing is tentatively titled Foxtail, i have some. Very Crunchy ideas for getting in there a bit more.  
> \- speaking of which, Oops I Did It Again (it being ‘changed the name of the other fic in the series). i promise this is the last time but i realised it was dumb to have it just be one single scene on its own so now its generalised missing, bonus, or deleted scenes, and I’ll have more to add soon hopefully  
> \- fuck me that’s a lot of notes huh. ill shut up now. thank you for looking with homosexual intent.


	11. And If You Do Not Like Me So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > In youth, it was a way I had,  
> To do my best to please.  
> And change, with every passing lad  
> To suit his theories.
>> 
>> But now I know the things I know  
> And do the things I do,  
>  **And if you do not like me so,**  
>  To hell, my love, with you.
> 
> \- Dorothy Parker, _Indian Summer ___

“...to you, Marasi?”

It took a few seconds for Marasi to register the sound of her name. 

“Hm?” she said, snapping back to reality. “Yes?”

The rest of the group were staring at her, expressions expectant. 

She winced, realising she’d missed most of the conversation. “...could you repeat the question?”

It would be nice to say that Marasi’s realisation had brought the world to a halt, but reality was rarely so considerate.

They’d suffered no more carriage mishaps, and by sundown they had reached their location, tucked into the foothills of the mountain range, an hour’s ride from Dulsing. Steris had stayed with the horses and carriage, hidden behind a bluff a few hundred meters behind them, and they’d proceeded on foot up to the ridge overlooking the miniature valley. No hedging their bets this time; they’d come loaded for bear. Wax had his full set of guns and the cube, Marasi had Valediction and her hazekiller rounds, Wayne had his canes, MeLaan had her aluminium skeleton; metals topped off and ammunition secured. 

Below them, the Set’s mysterious warehouse stood out of the dusty surroundings like a sore, brightly-lit thumb. Powerful electric floodlights ringed the perimeter, creating a band of brilliant illumination like a moat around the warehouse itself, with guard towers and regular patrols of heavily-armed soldiers in unmarked uniforms. 

They’d hunkered down on the ridge in order to come up with a plan, and that was when Marasi had gotten… distracted.

She felt… unmoored. Like the world around her had fundamentally shifted, and nothing would ever be the same. A cataclysm, an event of historical proportions.

Whether it was more of an Ashnight or a Catacendre... remained to be seen.

The biggest problem was that she couldn’t _focus._ They had a case, a mystery, an objective, and instead of concentrating on that, all Marasi seemed to be able to do was go around in circles in her mind.

She, Marasi Colms, was attracted to women _._

Or- was she? Was this a one-off thing? Was she just so lonely and desperate that she latched onto the first vaguely-friendly face. Had MeLaan _done_ something to her? Not intentionally, but by kissing her while disguised as a man, had it mixed things up in her brain, tricking her libido into considering her an acceptable subject? Or had it been the only way she _could’ve_ found that out, because she’d never considered women before like that? Or-

Or or or or or or. She felt like a broken record, and just like one, she just kept repeating herself until some external force changed the situation. 

The external force, in this case, being MeLaan. 

Whenever the kandra was in her sight now, it took an effort of will to not just stare at her the entire time. It wasn’t just leering, even - she wanted to pick the situation apart, figure out _how_ the other woman had affected her like she had. Staring at the subtle curve of her hips, the lines of her face, the pale, thin slashes of her lips, hoping to find some subtle clue or detail that would make it all come together and make sense, like it was a case she was trying to solve. 

It was also partly leering, because the one fact Marasi hadn’t been able to muster up any doubt about was the fact that she was attracted to MeLaan.

She’d always thought ‘butterflies in the stomach’ was an exaggeration, a literary conceit, but she’d be damned if that wasn’t _exactly_ what it felt like when MeLaan smiled at her. A great many things that she’d dismissed were turning out to have far more basis in reality than she’d realised, and it all pointed towards one single conclusion.

The problem was, she didn’t know what to _do_ with that. She hadn’t received some… holy vision from above, giving prophecy of the future. Pits, at this point, she’d settle for a helpful pamphlet _._ She was just… herself, but less sure in what that actually meant than she’d ever been before. 

The obvious answer was that she just ignore the whole issue. After all, there were much bigger things to be worrying about at the current moment. With everything that was at stake, Marasi knew she needed to be at the top of her game, and right now, she was… not. In fact, she’d go as far to say that she was at the _bottom_ of her game, having hit every single branch on the way down and then broken her legs upon landing. 

As evidenced by the fact that Wax had asked her a question and she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts instead of answering, _again._

The looks she was getting from the others were closer to _worried_ now, except for Wayne, who just looked vaguely amused. 

“You feelin’ okay, Mara?” MeLaan asked, sounding concerned. She took a step forward, raising one hand.

Marasi practically _scrambled_ away from the other woman, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” she croaked desperately, then immediately realised that probably wasn’t going to weld when she’d reacted the way she had. 

“Okay,” she admitted, “no, I’m not fine. But it’s not- I just need to get my head in order, is all.”

She lifted her gaze back to the others, just in time to see a hurt expression slide off MeLaan’s face. An icy grip seized her heart, and she desperately tried to make eye contact, to try and explain why she’d reacted like she had, but the kandra woman was already looking away, under the guise of turning her attention back to Wax.

Who was talking, Marasi realised. “...need a minute?”

Thankfully, this one she could infer from context. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “No, no. I’m okay. Just… thinking. I’m here now, I promise.”

None of them seemed _particularly_ convinced by that, but after a second, Wax shrugged a shoulder, letting it go. 

“Care to tiebreak, then?” he asked, gesturing down towards the ring of floodlights. “Wayne wants to run a Rough’n’Fumble, but I’m leaning more towards a Deadfinger Shuffle.”

“And _I,_ ” MeLaan interjected, “have no clue what any of that means, and these two buffoons refuse to explain.”

“It’d take too much time t’explain,” Wayne said.

“Longer than _this?!_ ”

Marasi mentally reviewed the records of Wax’s history that she’d read, matching up names to scenarios. “...I don’t feel fantastic about either one, to be honest. Rough’n’Fumble is pretty risky without a Lurcher, and Deadfinger Shuffle only works if they don’t just shoot the donkey, which feels like something the Set would do.”

“Hm.” Wax acknowledged her points with a frown. “You might be right.”

Marasi thought back to the train robbery.

“What about... Spoiled Tomato?” she suggested, interrupting Wayne’s latest suggestion of a Drunken Mulberry (which she was almost certain he’d made up on the spot). 

Wax rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Spoiled Tomato could work.”

“Nuh uh,” Wayne said, shaking his head fervently. “No way. I ain’t _made_ of healing, y’know?”

“You’ve got that fancy metalmind from Kelesina,” Wax countered. “You’ve got healing to spare now.”

Wayne was obviously searching for any excuse not to go ahead with it. “What about… a reverse Fiddler’s Horse?”

“Isn’t that just basically a Spoiled Tomato anyway?” Marasi asked.

“No, it’s…” He frowned. “Well, pits, I guess it is.”

“Okay,” MeLaan cut in, “as _fascinating_ as this is to observe, and I do mean that genuinely, could we _please_ just pick something and go? We haven’t got all night.”

Wayne opened his mouth, and MeLaan stuck a finger up, stopping him short. “ _Yes_ , technically, we literally have all night, but counterpoint: shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

Wax sighed. “Wayne, if you’re _absolutely_ against Spoiled Tomato, we’ll do something else. But if you’re just kvetching…”

Wayne stuck his hands in his pockets, slouching down. “...we can do Spoiled Tomato, I guess.”

“Great!” MeLaan said, clapping her hands together soundlessly. “Now, can someone _please_ explain what that means?”

“You remember Green Tomato, from the train?” Marasi asked.

Wax pulled out one of his shotguns and handed it over to Wayne, who took it one hand and slipped his hat off with the other. He tossed it in MeLaan’s direction, and she snatched it smoothly out of the air. 

“Hold onto that?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said easily, putting it on her own head then tipping it at a rakish angle. “I remember Green Tomato, yeah,” she added, picking the original topic back up without missing a beat.

The sight of her in the hat made Marasi feel all twisty and uncomfortable, and she had to take a second to find her train of thought again. “...right. Right, Spoiled Tomato, yes. It’s the same basic idea as Green Tomato, just slightly modified.”

“I’m guessing that has something to do with ‘green’ versus ‘spoiled’?”

“Yep,” Marasi confirmed, watching Wax and Wayne line themselves up, Wax digging his heels into the ground and bracing. “A green tomato _bounces_...” 

And then Wax Pushed, and Wayne went flying away from them.

As one, they all turned their heads, tracking his arc as best they could through the thick mists. The tiny dark shape of his airborne form reached the zenith of its arc, then began dropping once more, before vanishing completely from their sight. A moment later, there was the faint but distinctive sound of bones cracking.

“...but a _spoiled_ tomato splatters,” Marasi finished. 

MeLaan winced. “...you know, the fact that I’m a shapeshifting immortal blob of fleshcrafting jelly and that _still_ grosses me out probably doesn’t say great things about y’all.”

It was only a few minutes before one of the large floodlights went dark with a loud, mechanical _chnnk._ Raised voices quickly followed, but not the kind that preceded gunfire, and they moved quietly down the slope, using the patch of darkness to bridge the moat of light and back into the misty shadows on the other side.

Wayne rejoined them near the warehouse’s wall. His clothes had taken some damage, but he looked pleased as punch with himself, and for once Marasi couldn’t judge him for it.

“Good work,” Wax told him quietly. “That was smart thinking, with the guard.”

“Oh, y’know,” Wayne replied flippantly. “Weren’t nothing special.”

Marasi didn’t miss, however, the exuberant little grin that snuck onto his face once Wax had looked away. It was the happiest she’d seen him since the start of this case - no, since even earlier than that. She hadn’t noticed at the time, distracted by her Trell research and helping Steris prepare for the wedding, but looking back on the past few months, it was clear that something had been getting him down for a while. 

_Maybe he just missed the work. I doubt wedding preparations and therapy are his idea of fun._

They skirted the outside wall of the warehouse, taking care to move quietly and stay in the shadows. It was probably just her imagination, but a few times, it almost seemed to Marasi like the mists were curling around them, hiding them more completely from view. Then again, considering that they had a Faceless Immortal and someone who Harmony had shown specific interest in before among them, perhaps it wasn’t so implausible after all. Maybe she’d ask MeLaan about-

 _Nope! No thinking about her! Focus on the case! Focus on not_ dying, _at least._

“Here,” came Wax’s whispered voice from up ahead. Even a few feet ahead, the mists were thick enough that he was only a shadowed silhouette. As she drew closer, his definition returned, but as far as Marasi could tell, he’d stopped on a completely random section of wooden wall. 

“MeLaan,” he said. “You’re up.”

The kandra woman nodded, moving up beside him and placing one hand on the wall. It began writhing in that unsettling way it did when she was manipulating her flesh, and Marasi took a hasty step backwards so that the sight was obscured by the mists.

After a few seconds, she moved her hand up slightly and repeated the process, then again about a meter to the right, then one more time back down at the height of the first position. She drew her hand away, and as the board came away freely Marasi finally understood. Somehow, MeLaan was pulling the nails out of the wall, letting them remove the boards silently. 

Based on the lack of communication of that idea, Marasi _also_ understood that it had been discussed in the planning session, and she’d completely missed it.

 _Maybe I really_ should _have stayed behind._

After only a few minutes, they’d opened up a hole large enough to crawl through. The room on the other side was small and surprisingly dusty, stacked high with filing cabinets, dark and dim. Once they were all through, MeLaan did… _something_ to the boards involving some kind of liquid, sealing them into a solid piece that sat back in the wall but that they could still remove if they needed to. 

“Alright,” Wax said quietly, once they’d sealed their exit back up. “Meet back here in an hour. Scouting only. Try not to do something drastic unless it’s necessary.”

“You’re one to talk,” MeLaan murmured under her breath, and Marasi suppressed a snicker. 

Wax began to move towards one of the doors, Wayne following behind him, and Marasi belatedly realised that they’d be splitting up into their usual pairs because _of course_ they would be, and that would leave her with-

 _No!_ “Actually,” Marasi heard herself say, “can I take Wayne for this one?”

Three sets of eyes turned on her, all equally confused. 

“I just think-” _-that you just should have thought of an excuse before opening your mouth?_ “-a spike is easy to hide, and Wayne’s good at squirrelling out things like that.”

 _...wait, that’s actually not bad._ Evidently, Wax and Wayne agreed, the latter preening a little at something that hadn’t actually been intended as a compliment. 

MeLaan, however, pursed her lips. “Gents?” she said to the two. “Give us a moment?”

Marasi followed her over to one side of the room, trying to keep her gaze averted from the other woman.

“Marasi, did I do something?” MeLaan asked, achingly gentle and confused. “You’ve been avoiding me and acting weird, and I feel like I did something, but I don’t know what.”

Marasi shook her head. “It’s not you,” she said, keeping her eyes turned studiously away. “I’m worried about Wayne, and Wax’s version of ‘keeping an eye on him’ was leaving him behind to get drunk.”

Obviously, she’d just made that up on the spot, but when she actually thought about it, it was probably a genuinely good idea. 

“Oh,” MeLaan said, relaxing. “Okay, good. That’s- good, yes. I’m sorry for assuming it was about me, that’s arrogant.”

And it was the easy way out, but Marasi couldn’t conscience letting that be. “...it was,” she admitted quietly. “Not something you did, but- I _was_ avoiding you.”

“...why?” The hurt in MeLaan’s voice was well-hidden, but not quite well enough.

“It’s…” Marasi folded her arms, digging her nails into the flesh of her biceps, and staring a hole into the wall. “Can we talk about it later? We should focus on getting through this first.”

“...yeah,” MeLaan said after a moment. “Okay. Later.”

Marasi risked a glance up at her, and found that carefully neutral expression that she’d grown to recognise as the kandra woman disguising a strong emotion. 

“It’s nothing you did,” Marasi repeated, trying to put more conviction into the words. “I promise, okay?”

MeLaan met her gaze, and something in her eyes softened. “Okay,” she said softly.

If Marasi left the room with Wayne a little more hurriedly than was necessary, it was only because they’d already wasted enough time.

No other reason.

* * *

The inexplicable, giant ship in the middle of the warehouse was certainly fascinating, but after a few moments of awed, baffled staring, Marasi had resolved to ignore it. Big, yes. Terrifying in both scale and implications, yes. Utterly unexplainable for their location, also yes. 

Related to ReLuur’s spike and the Bands of Mourning? Almost certainly not. 

And she was having enough concentration issues as-is. 

Instead, what caught her eye was the rooms built into the eaves of the warehouse, with the catwalks stretching between them. A ladder on one side of the warehouse and a set of stairs on the other restricted access to two chokepoints, and the catwalks were highly exposed and constantly patrolled, making it the most secure location Marasi could see. If the spike was being kept anywhere, it would likely be up there.

They found a pair of guards, and Marasi dropped a cadmium bubble around one just as they rounded a corner, letting Wayne get positioned to choke them out as soon as she dropped it. Marasi dragged that one back out of sight while Wayne slipped around the corner to deal with the other - judging by how quickly he’d returned, his standard speed bubble trick had worked just fine. 

And it was- nice. To just do the work, without having to be constantly reminded of her own crises. Wayne had his eccentricities, but he was competent, and their metals worked well together. It was simple, and Marasi desperately needed some simple in her life right then.

They dragged the two guards into a broom closet (turns out that even ominous conspiracy groups still need to clean their floors), stripped them of their uniforms and tied them up. 

Wayne changed his clothes so quickly that Marasi suspected he had used a speed bubble to do it - when she turned around from securing the two guards, he was already wearing the pants and jacket, and doing up the laces on the boots.

“You probably didn’t need to change pants,” Marasi pointed out. The guards wore generic, dark trousers that weren’t noticeably different from the ones she and Wayne had been wearing.

“And half-ass it?!” Wayne replied indignantly. “For shame, Mara, for shame.” He ruffled around in his pockets, before emerging with a few pieces of false hair that formed a surprisingly convincing muttonchops-mustache combination. His bowler got flattened out and slipped inside his coat, and then he finally settled the guard’s cap on his head in an almost reverent motion. His body language changed as he did, gaining years of wear and a slightly sleepy affect in the span of seconds. 

Even having seen it before, it never failed to impress Marasi, to see how completely he changed his mannerisms. In a way, it was almost _more_ impressive than what MeLaan or the other kandra did; they were _crafted_ for it, but Wayne was just a human.

“Mary made me mash my marbles on Monday morning,” he mumbled, mouth barely moving. He frowned. “Mary made me mash my marbles on Monday morning,” he repeated, talking more out of the side of his mouth, and grinned. “Got it.”

Marasi raised an eyebrow at him as she shrugged on her pilfered coat. It was a bit big around the shoulders, but otherwise not a bad fit. “You really don’t ever do it halfway, huh, Wayne?”

“M’name’s not Wayne,” he said through his mustache. “S’Tarrance. Tarrance Billows.”

If Marasi hadn’t seen him put the character on, she’d have believed it. 

“Got two kids,” he continued, “but I ‘ent seen ‘em in too long. Miss the little blighters, I do.” He brightened up, a touch of Wayne seeping back in. “Okay, now do yours.”

“Mine?” Marasi asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well… I’m a guard. My name is… Jane.”

“ _Jane?!_ ”

“Jane Doe,” Marasi confirmed, hiding her grin. 

“ _Mara_ ,” Wayne said, almost heartbroken.

She chuckled, donning her own cap. “We can’t all be as creative as you, Wayne. I’m just trying to make you look better by comparison.”

He sniffed, wet and muddled. “Don’t need the help.”

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

Marasi walked slightly behind Wayne as they left the closet, trying to imitate some of his affect. They passed plenty of guards, and more than a few people in different uniforms bearing tools, but with Wayne mumbling greetings and giving nods to them as they passed, all Marasi really had to do was follow in his wake as they ascended the stairs and crossed the catwalks to the main block of rooms. 

Despite the higher level of security, there were actually fewer people around once they made it to the offices - only the occasional person passed them, wearing a fancier uniform than the others they’d seen. Some of the rooms had occupants, working with chalkboards and typewriters and maps, but more were dark and empty. 

At the end of the row of rooms was a single, smaller one, closer to the size of the closet they’d hidden in than the larger spaces around them. 

Marasi was fully ready to ignore it and keep moving, but as she passed by, she caught a glimpse of something through the small window in the door that made her stop in her tracks. 

“Mara?” Wayne asked as she moved back to the door, getting a better look. Inside, someone sat at a desk, back facing the door; the only feature visible was a head of dark hair streaked with gray.

“Mara-?” Wayne asked again, but she’d already opened the door and stepped inside.

“What _now?_ ” the woman at the desk said, glancing over her shoulder at them. “Is it-” 

She froze, pencil dropping from her hand, then stood and turned to face them properly, eyes wide with shock.

Marasi’s heart leapt into her throat.

She’d seen the photograph ReLuur had taken, of course, and Wax had provided some older sketches so they’d know what to look for.

As it turned out, however, still images had not done Telsin Ladrian justice in the slightest.

Even without the pictures, Marasi knew she would have recognised her instantly. She’d never met any of Wax’s family face-to-face, but judging by Telsin, his features were far more hereditary than Marasi had realised.

She had the same strong jaw and high, hawkish nose as Waxillium, the same thick, dark eyebrows over the same piercing, icicle-blue eyes. Her cheekbones were less defined than his, the shape of her brow slightly different, but if not for the prominent grey streaks in her hair, Marasi would have been willing to believe that she and Waxillium were twins, so great was the resemblance. 

Her skin was slightly lighter than Waxillium’s - hardly surprising, considering she’d spent the last year in captivity - but still darker than Marasi’s, with that tanned, weathered quality that Wayne also shared, a product of their mixed heritage. Her clothing, an unassuming, high-collared day dress in a dull navy, was worn and faded but clean, and her hands were callused, ink-spotted and strong.

She was never going to be called beautiful or pretty, but by Marasi’s reckoning, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who’d deny that Telsin Ladrian was handsome.

Her brow furrowed into well-worn lines as she glanced back and forth between them. “You’re not guards, are you?” she asked. Her voice was deep and throaty, with a slight rasp to it. For whatever reason, it called to mind the image of cigars smoked by a crackling fireplace, warm and smoky and relaxed. 

“I- ah,” Marasi stammered, her voice stuck in her throat, blushing furiously. She knew exactly what was happening; she already had the script in her brain that she was supposed to be attracted to Waxillium. Clearly it was a much shorter leap from there to being a- to finding Telsin a-

To _this._ To whatever _this,_ this bumbling, useless teenage behaviour, was. 

“Nope,” Wayne answered, saving her. “We’re here to bust you out, Telsin.”

She tilted her head owlishly. “You... know my name. Does that mean you know Asinthew- Waxillium? Is he here as well?”

“We do, and he is,” Marasi said, finding her voice. “You could say we’re colleagues of his, actually.”

“Colleagues?” Recognition flashed across her face. “That would make you… Marasi Colms, then?”

Marasi blinks. “Ah- yes, but how did you…”

Telsin smiled, a grim, humourless little thing. “I’ve been allowed newspapers on occasion, for ‘good behaviour’. Uncle Edwarn seemed to favour the ones about my brother, presumably to taunt me.” She turned to Wayne. “And you would be John, I suppose? A- _Waxillium_ mentioned you in some of his earlier letters.”

Marasi blinked. _...who?!_

Wayne seemed just as shocked as she did. “I… dint know that,” he said slowly. “That he mentioned me.”

“Not often,” Telsin said with a chuckle. “We fell out of the habit after a few years, but- now is hardly the time for reminiscing, is it?” She looked up, eyes bright, almost fevered. “Harmony, I almost can’t believe it. _Thank you,_ thank you both, for coming for me.”

Marasi nodded in acknowledgement, still too stunned to respond to her properly. “Your name is _Wayne John?!_ ” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“What? No,” Wayne hissed back. “Course not, that’s stupid. S’John Wayne.”

“...Wayne isn’t your first name?”

“You thought it _was?!_ ”

“Ahem.”

Both of them turned sheepishly to where Telsin was appraising them, arms folded and one eyebrow raised.

“If you’re quite finished?”

They both coughed, averting their gazes awkwardly. 

“We should have a few minutes before the next patrol,” Telsin said. She’d grabbed a few papers from the desk, folding them and stuffing them into her pockets. “I’ve been memorising them, just in case of- well, to be honest, I never thought anyone would actually _come_ for me, but it was a nice fantasy.”

The broken-down, weary tone to her voice made Marasi’s heart ache in sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But we’re real, I promise.”

Telsin looked at her, favouring her with a smile that made her insides twist up into a knot. “I believe you.”

Marasi flushed, quickly looking away. “We’ll try and get you a uniform,” she said hastily, slinging Valediction around to her back so she could unholster her pistol (she’d had to borrow one from Wax, being unable to retrieve her own from Lady Kelesina’s staff). “But just in case - do you know how to shoot?”

Telsin took the revolver from her, checking the chamber and testing the hammer with a smooth, practised ease. She opened her mouth to answer, but then her gaze flickered over Marasi’s shoulder and her eyes went wide. Marasi spun around, just in time to see one of the guards burst in with his gun raised, pointed directly at her.

She froze, hand halfway to Valediction.

The guard’s eyes narrowed, then flicked over to Telsin, opening his mouth. “Lad-” 

A gunshot rang out, and the guard dropped to the floor, a clean hole burned through his forehead.

Marasi and Wayne turned as one to find Telsin, pistol raised, smoke curling from the barrel. Her face was cold and resolute as stone, her grip solid and unyielding. Then, all at once, her composure escaped her, and she sagged, lowering the gun with shaky hands.

“...yes,” she said quietly, staring at the corpse. “I do know how to shoot.”

Marasi took a deep breath, and let out slowly. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears, heart still pounding. 

“So much for that plan,” she said ruefully, glancing down at where the blood was already starting to stain the collar of the fallen guard’s uniform.

“They’ll have heard that,” Telsin said. Sure enough, an alarm bell started ringing, followed quickly by others. “We should go.”

She strode confidently towards the door, only hesitating for a second as she stepped over the corpse.

Wayne let out a low whistle as they followed her out of the room. 

“Damn,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Marasi to hear, “Wax never mentioned his sister was _hot_.”

In what had to be one of the absolute lowest, most shameful moments of her life, Marasi found herself agreeing with Wayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~as of this chapter I _think_ ive done enough foreshadowing of a particular Thing that one might be able to guess it, and if someone does i’ll add it to the tags (otherwise it won’t be revealed explicitly until around chapter 15-16)~~
> 
> EDIT: someone guessed it!  
> " ~~Other Relationship Tags To Be Added~~ " -> "Waxillium "Wax" Ladrian/Wayne (one-sided)"
> 
> notes:
> 
> \- And Introducing: Marasi Colms, As, Useless Lesbian  
> \- bitches will see an older woman who’s evil and say ‘is anyone going to make that gay’ and then not wait for a response  
> \- im bitches  
> \- we also know very little about her in canon: she likes to paint, she was a somewhat rebellious teen, she recruited edwarn into the Set, and that’s about it. So most of the details I’m going to be introducing here are Calamine Originals ™.  
> \- wax is about 43 in BoM and Telsin is stated in the prologue to be a year older than him, making her about 44 which is actually younger than i was expecting considering she’s greying and wax isnt  
> \- telsin is not physically a milf but spiritually she is milf-aligned. milf-coded.  
> \- there’s literally 0 reason for yiddish to exist on scadrial but kvetching is too good a word to not use so just pretend its a translation of a word that means the same but is from Terris or some shit  
> \- if there’s an in-universe name for the start of the final empire i couldnt find it so i made up ‘Ashnight’.  
> \- i know wayne is his first name in canon, I just couldnt resist. its a dumb joke sir but it checks out. he definitely seems like someone who goes by his surname cause he doesnt like his first name.  
> \- i still dont get marasi/wayne but after this chapter i don’t get it a little less than before. so godspeed, whoever that one person that ships them is


	12. Ruined As God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you'd be doomed. You'd be **ruined as God**. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to. 
> 
> \- Margaret Atwood, _The Blind Assassin_

“So,” Wayne asked, “where’s a fancy-pancy noble like yourself learn how to shoot, anyways?”

Alarm bells continued to chime through the warehouse as they left the room where Telsin had been imprisoned, trying to create as much distance between them and the murdered guard before reinforcements arrived. They’d given Telsin Marasi’s stolen jacket and Wayne’s cap, but it could only do so much to disguise her fairly distinct appearance. 

Marasi wasn’t entirely sure this was the right time to be having this conversation, and almost said as much, but Telsin spoke up before she could.

“You work at a free clinic in the slums for half a decade,” the older woman said, sounding rueful, “and you either learn to defend yourself or you die.”

 _Clinic?_ “You’re a doctor?” Marasi asked, surprised.

“ _Was,_ but yes. Waxillium didn’t mention that?”

Marasi winced. “Wax… doesn’t talk about his family much. Or at all, really.”

Telsin chuckled humourlessly. “All things considered, I suppose I can’t blame him.” 

Wayne didn’t seem fully satisfied with her explanation, but it seemed perfectly reasonable to Marasi. To her eyes, the way Telsin had held and fired the revolver spoke of a great degree of practice and self-improvement, but not much in the way of instruction. Waxillium, when he wasn’t just shooting from the hip, was similar - the way he’d described it, he’d had no formal training whatsoever when he’d first arrived in the Roughs, and had learnt mostly via idle bits of advice from others (more than a few of which, Marasi suspected, had been yelled after him as he ran away). 

That incremental, iterated improvement was evident in the way Waxillium placed his feet, the faint tilt of Telsin’s head towards her dominant shoulder, the way that both of them tended to tuck their elbows in slightly. It was less pronounced in Telsin’s case, but both Ladrians handled firearms like they’d learned through a process of trial and error that was distinctly weighted towards the latter.

Marasi had been in the lead as they rounded a corner, and so, caught up in her thoughts as she was, she only barely managed to avoid running headfirst into the soldier coming the other way. 

“Watch it!” the man snapped as she stumbled backwards, nearly bowling over Telsin as she came up behind her.

“Sorry,” Marasi murmured as she got her feet under her. She did her best to try and unobtrusively hide Telsin from sight with her body, but considering that the other woman was almost a full head taller than her, it was a fairly futile effort.

“Where are you going, anyway?” the guard asked, glancing over them suspiciously. “Muster’s in the other direction.” His eyes narrowed. “And is that _blood_?”

“...I can explain,” Marasi said awkwardly.

The guard tilted his head.

“I… can… explain…” she repeated, drawing the words out as she desperately tried to think of a story.

The guard frowned, started to reach for his gun, and then Wayne stepped up and punched him in the throat. He staggered back, gagging, and within moments Wayne had him in a chokehold.

“What?” he asked as the last of the guard’s struggle faded. “He was gonna yell.”

Marasi conceded the point with a sigh, and then another guard jogged around the corner. He froze, eyes darting from Wayne on the ground, with his arm still around the first guard’s neck, then up to Marasi. He opened his mouth, and then Telsin shot him.

“...well, that was a whole debacle,” she said ruefully, lowering her gun. She ditched her cap, running a shaky hand through her hair. “Which way?”

Marasi glanced around, desperately searching for another method of escape, now that it was abundantly clear their disguises weren’t going to pass muster. She’d already noted that there were chokepoints built into the layout of the warehouse, and now they found themselves on the wrong side of exactly that feature, with both the stairs and the ladder being made unviable by the swarming of guards. The floor was much too far below them to even consider dropping directly: Wayne would be fine, but Marasi and Telsin would be lucky to only come away with two broken legs. 

Then they rounded a corner, and the problem solved itself. 

“Telsin,” she asked quietly. “Do you know how to break a fall?”

“Why? Are we…” she followed Marasi’s eye-line, down to the top deck of the strange ship about ten feet below one of the catwalks. “Oh. Oh, that might work. It’s been a few years but I think I remember the basics.”

Marasi glanced over at Wayne to confirm he’d heard, barely catching him averting his gaze. _Was he watching me? Telsin?_ She didn’t have time to speculate, but it was one more thing to add to the list of strange behaviour she’d noticed from him.

They approached the edge of the catwalks, looking down onto the deck of the ship. It wasn’t too large a drop, but as Marasi straddled the railing and swung her legs out over it, she was struck with a second of paralysing fear. It had been a while since she’d had to do this - what if she messed it up, what if she broke her legs, what if she never walked again-

She swallowed her fear and let herself drop, feeling the drop in her stomach as the wind tugged at her hair. She forced herself to relax her knees, and as her feet hit the deck, she bent her legs to absorb some of the impact, and let the momentum tip her torso forward shoulder-first, sending her into a clumsy roll that bled away the rest. Her shoulders and knees ached as she came to a stop, as well as the section of her back where Valediction had been awkwardly pressed into her, but nothing was broken or sprained.

Telsin’s roll looked very similar to hers - a bit clumsy and rough, but with experience behind it. She also didn’t have the added complication of a rifle across her back - a fact that became abundantly clear when, after sitting up, she reached down the front of her dress and pulled the revolver back out, as casual as could be. 

Marasi averted her eyes hastily, just in time to see Wayne to join them in his usual unique manner. He didn’t even bother trying to break his fall as he dropped from the catwalk - he crumpled bonelessly as he hit the ground, but was back on his feet with a blur, using a small speed bubble to accelerate his healing even further.

“Should you really be wasting healing like that?” Marasi asked him as they hurried towards the hatch that led belowdecks.

“S’fine,” he replied flippantly. “Just using the weird one, not my own.”

“Still,” Marasi said, but whatever she’d been planning to say next was completely driven from her mind as they opened the hatch and dropped down into the corridor below. 

The interior of the ship was dimly lit, and slightly claustrophobic. Marasi had never been inside a steam ship, but the interior of the vessel bore strong similarities to the photographs she’d seen in books and newspapers. The entire thing was constructed out of sheet metal, with bolts and seams and welds all at regular, uniform intervals, and support struts frequently intersected with the passageway. 

“Fascinating,” Marasi breathed, running her hand along the metal wall. “Telsin, do you have any idea why they were building this out here?”

Telsin shot her a strange look. “Building? The Set didn’t build this, they _found_ it.”

Marasi’s whole perspective shifted as she re-evaluated the situation. “But- who _did_ , then? And how did it end up here?”

Telsin shrugged. “No idea, I’m afraid. When they brought me here a few months, it had already been constructed, and I haven’t seen much more of it than the path between that room and my _quarters_.” It was clear by her tone of voice that she actually meant something closer to ‘cell’. 

“S’important, then?” Wayne asked her. “Means there’s more funny business than we thought.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Marasi said, gnawing on her lip. 

The ship not belonging to the Set meant that there was a third party involved after all. Were they after the Set? The Bands? ReLuur’s spike? What did it mean, that they had advanced machining capabilities like this? An industrial operation capable of creating something of this size wasn’t exactly easy to hide, and the joins she could see at regular intervals were much finer and less obtrusive than anything she’d seen in Elendel. 

Which had… troubling implications.

They didn’t run into any more guards as they descended through the ship, although a few times they had to stop and wait for the drum of footsteps to pass them by up ahead. By the time they’d reached the ground level, Marasi had only been left with more questions. The signage, for instance, was in no language she’d ever seen before, a strange script that looked completely apart from the metallic script or more modern forms of writing. More than that, though, there was a strange sense to some of the design and construction that put her on edge, as if it were something completely apart from any tradition or heritage she was familiar with. It felt fantastical to even speculate, but Marasi was starting to suspect that whoever made the ship wasn’t from the Basin at all.

Eventually, they found a door that led outside and was already open - the inscrutable locking mechanism on the doors being one of the strange things she’d noticed.

Cautiously, Marasi ducked her head out of the doorway. They were reasonably close to the closet she and Wayne had tied the guards up in, and thereby only slightly further from the storeroom that was their rendezvous point and exit. There was only about twenty feet of open space between them and the nearest structure, and from there, the pseudo-buildings built into the structure of the warehouse would provide cover for them. All they had to do was-

Heralded by a chorus of gunfire, Waxillium came sprinting around the corner, MeLaan close behind, practically dragging a third person by the arm. Wax spotted them, and gestured for Marasi to clear the doorway as he spun around. The last thing Marasi saw as she drew back was him lifting off the ground in a short, Push-assisted hop to keep his momentum while he fired at the Set soldiers that had just rounded the corner.

“Incoming,” Marasi barked back at the others, swinging Valediction down from her back. 

Sure enough, Wax skidded through the doorway a second later, followed by MeLaan, who quickly ducked off to the side and flattened herself and the stranger against the wall. Wax made no effort to clear the doorway, and Marasi saw the ground crack slightly around his feet as he increased his weight. She had just enough time to get a solid grip on Valediction, before a tremendously strong Push tried to wrench it from her hands. The entire ship shook and groaned as it was caught in the bleed-off, and although Marasi couldn’t see outside, the screams, dull thuds, and the sudden absence of gunfire told her more than enough.

Wax slammed the door closed, then Pushed the mechanism into a twisted knot of metal. 

“That should hold them for a bit,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I’m assuming those bells were you?”

Marasi winced. “Well, yes, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

Wax glanced at her, but before he could speak, the stranger Marasi had been dragging tugged on his sleeve urgently, then pointed down the corridor urgently.

“This way?” Wax asked him, and he nodded fervently in reply, saying a few words in a harsh, guttural language Marasi didn’t recognise. Now that she was looking at him properly, she realised that he was actually wearing a _mask_ along with his strange, heavy furs - and then the connections clicked together in her head.

“MeLaan, is that-”

“Mm-hm,” the kandra confirmed. “Not _quite_ the same as ReLuur’s drawing, but obviously the same style of mask.”

“We found him in a cell,” Wax explained, “and he-” He spotted Telsin, the shock making him stutter over his words for a moment before continuing, “-kept insisting we come this way.”

“And now the guards know exactly where we are,” Telsin observed coolly.

Wax raised an eyebrow. “...the first time we see each other in two decades, and _that’s_ the first- _oof._ ”

Telsin had seized her brother in a tight hug, wrapping her arms around him like a woman clinging to debris in a shipwreck.

After a moment, face overcome with complicated emotions, Wax hugged her back, closing his eyes.

“I missed you, Ase,” Telsin said, almost too quiet to be heard. “Thank you for coming for me.”

Wax sighed, leaning his head against hers. “...I missed you too, Else.”

They broke apart after a few seconds. “Come on,” Wax said, gesturing forward. His voice was rough with emotion. “They’ll be regrouping any minute now, and I think our new friend knows a way out.”

They began moving at a restrained jog, letting the masked stranger lead them through the bowels of the ship with obvious familiarity. Marasi found herself falling into step with MeLaan, who gave her a quick grin.

“They were the only one in the cells,” MeLaan explained, gesturing up towards the stranger. “They don’t speak any language I know, but they were _very_ insistent that we take this with us.” She held up a few strange medallions on simple cloth bands. “They were in a safe,” she added, “along with…” She shifted her hand slightly, revealing a small object wrapped in crumpled paper.

“Is that…?” Marasi asked breathlessly.

“Mm-hmm,” MeLaan grinned. Marasi held out a hand, and she dropped the object into it. “Safe and sound. Do you have-”

“I do,” Marasi confirmed, pulling a small, padded vial out of her pocket. Unwrapping the paper to reveal ReLuur’s spike, she uncorked the vial and dropped the spike in, sealing it back up afterwards. Ven-Dell’s documents had included a note that the decay of spikes could be slowed by immersing them in blood, and MeLaan had been sent with a few of the secure vials for that purpose. Marasi had been assured that the blood had been donated willingly, and she’d intentionally avoided inquiring further. 

MeLaan visibly relaxed as the spike was immersed, tension bleeding out of her features. “That’s a weight off my mind.”

“Mm,” Marasi agreed. “Now all we have to worry about is the armed soldiers trying to kill us.”

MeLaan grinned. “Oh, that’s all?”

Marasi grinned back. For a moment it was just the two of them, bright and laughing and happy, and Marasi just wanted to sit in that moment forever.

The cosmere, as it happened, had no particular care for what she wanted, and they rounded the last turn and came to a stop at the unexpected sight ahead of them.

Whether due to the angles of the ship and the warehouse or just simple distraction, Marasi hadn’t noticed until now that the ship wasn’t actually whole. A smaller section, maybe a fourth of the total mass of the vessel, was detached, sitting on wooden struts with a gap of twenty-odd feet between it and the rest of the ship. It clearly hadn’t been a clean break, either - Marasi could see places where the force had been strong enough to disregard the natural shear points of the bolts and seams, tearing directly through the middle of plating or beams. The internal structure had clearly been affected as well, the cross-section that the damage exposed sagging in some places and fully collapsed in others.

The masked stranger pointed urgently across the gap, towards one of the still-intact corridors on ground level.

“Figger that means ‘over there’,” Wayne said wryly. He stepped out of the ship onto the ground, and immediately danced back with a yelp as a barrage of gunfire rang out. 

“Rusts,” Wax hissed, and Marasi was inclined to agree.

“Do you think we can make it?” she asked, eyeing the distance.

“We’ll be torn to _shreds_ ,” Telsin countered, voice shaky. “We should turn around.”

“Maybe,” Wax said, voice grim. “They were picking their shots carefully earlier; it’s the only reason we’re not already dead.”

“They might be trying to avoid damaging the ship?” Marasi suggested. “It’s obviously important to them.”

“Mm,” MeLaan said. “Or maybe they know that if all of you die, there’s nothing left to stop me from slaughtering them all.”

The statement was made casually, with no particular heat behind it, but that only served to make her conviction even more evident. Marasi had no doubt in her mind whatsoever that the kandra woman was not only capable but _willing_ to slaughter her way through the entire complex.

And while she was mostly chilled by the unhesitating commitment to brutality, a small but significant portion of Marasi found it almost _appealing._

 _Oh Survivor,_ she realised, _I find violence attractive, don’t I?_

“Alternatively,” Wax suggested, helpfully interrupting her before she could be fully consumed by the mortifying ordeal of self-awareness, “they’re just trying to conserve ammunition.”

“Whatever the reason,” Marasi said, “I’d still personally like for us to get over there without being shot. How are you for steel, Wax?”

He shook his head. “That last Push took almost everything I had left.” He pulled out the cube. “Still got this, for whatever it’s worth now.”

Marasi frowned, taking it from him. “Don’t suppose you’re Metalborn as well?” she asked Telsin. “Something useful?”

The older woman shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Figures,” Marasi sighed. She looked down at the cube, then out at the gap. Behind them, the sound of drumming feet and yelling was growing slowly but surely louder. 

She only had one idea, and it was a risky one - but they didn’t have time for her to come up with anything better.

“When I say ‘go’,” Marasi said, crouching down, “ _run_. Okay?”

“Marasi-” 

“No time,” she said, cutting off MeLaan’s question. “Trust me, okay?” She didn’t bother looking around for confirmation - instead, she focused, and burned cadmium. 

The first twenty-some years of Marasi’s life where she’d had her allomancy, she’d mostly ignored, using it for her convenience without putting actual thought or practice into what she was doing. It wasn’t laziness - despite the constant refrain in her internal monologue that asserted otherwise - there had just never been any _point_. It was a useless metal, and she was a useless Allomancer, and she was lucky that it could do anything at all.

The past year, though, she’d started to re-evaluate her decisions. Not the metal’s usefulness, it was still a pain in the rusting ass, but in the value of practice and experimentation. She’d started testing the uses of her allomancy in her free time, slow and hesitant out of instinctual fear of punishment for her impudence. When it never came, when her subconscious started to accept that she was an adult and her father wasn’t constantly monitoring her behaviour, she’d grown bolder, attempting stranger uses and making practice regimes for herself.

She’d found some success in modifying the amount of time she could compress, and increasing the speed at which she could make multiple bubbles in succession, but the most significant of her improvements had been in changing the shape and size of the speed bubbles. They still had to be ultimately elliptical in shape - no flat planes or edges - and the fact that they would always manifest with the Pulser in the exact middle required a certain amount of symmetry. 

But, as Marasi had discovered, that still left room for improvisation. 

She’d made large bubbles before, so creating one that stretched all the way to the soldiers was no particular challenge. This one, though, she made thin and _long_ , maybe only three feet at the widest point. Not only that, but she’d angled it so it sat at an angle, creating a makeshift, slanted ‘shield’ between the Set soldiers and them.

The cube buzzed in her hand and she set it down on the ground, quickly double-checking her angles before hastily backing away.

A fraction of a second later, the bubble sprung into existence, the hazy boundary cutting across the floor of the warehouse.

“Go!” Marasi yelled as cries erupted from the soldiers, and took off towards the other half of the ship. Gunfire rang out as she ran, pulse pounding in her ears, but the distinctive sound of bullets tearing through the air failed to manifest afterwards. 

Marasi grinned in grim satisfaction and redoubled her pace. She’d flared her cadmium as hard as she could when creating the bubble, and so even within the relatively small space of distorted time, it still took a few seconds for a bullet to cross from one side to the other. More important than that, though, was that they would be knocked off-course not just when _entering_ the bubble, but when exiting it as well. For the first few seconds, it protected them from gunfire, and afterwards, it still made aiming virtually impossible. 

Which, Marasi had to admit as a bullet finally whizzed by her ear with a sound like an angry hornet, didn’t necessarily mean that they were _safe_. A wayward shot could be redirected towards them, or by sheer blind luck the second trajectory adjustment could counteract the first. 

But it had thrown the Set off, and before the soldiers could muster a response, they had all made it across to the other side, safely behind cover once more.

“Told you,” Marasi panted, “the clocks… weren’t a thing.” She doubled over, resting her arms on her knees, taking deep breaths and trying to recover. 

“The… clocks…?” Telsin asked, sounding about as poorly-off as Marasi felt.

“It’s a whole story,” MeLaan said, sounding as if she’d just come back from a light, relaxing jog.

The stranger seemed quite exhausted as well, but he hadn’t stopped with the rest of the group, moving down the corridor with one hand resting on it for support. A few feet down, he stopped and turned around, gesturing excitedly.

“We really trusting this mask weirdo to not get us all shot?” Wayne asked sceptically, sounding no worse for wear thanks to his Feruchemy.

“It’s not as if we have any other options, Wayne,” Wax observed. 

He was pointing furiously at a small indentation in the wall, babbling in that strange, harsh language. Marasi limped over to get a closer look, and found that the indentation was square-shaped, with recesses at the bottom that looked… strangely… familiar…

“Oh, _rust_ ,” Marasi swore, swivelling around. “It’s the cube. We need the cube to unlock it.”

Wax hissed through his teeth. “Well,” Wayne said, “ain’t that just a bugger.”

“Nah,” MeLaan said, “s’cool, I’ll just run back and get it.”

“What?!” Telsin demanded, grabbing her arm. “You’ll be killed.”

MeLaan blinked at her, then glanced up at the rest of them. “...does… she not know?”

“It didn’t come up,” Marasi said apologetically. “Telsin, MeLaan is a Faceless Immortal.”

MeLaan grinned, and pulled the flesh back from her face to reveal her shining aluminium skull.

Telsin flinched away, face paling.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “I see. My apologies.”

MeLaan’s face returned to normal, and she favoured Marasi with a quick look. “Back in a mo’,” she said, corner of her mouth quirking up. Then, without any preamble, she tore off back across the gap.

Marasi gritted her teeth and threw out another bubble, like the one she’d made the first time around. Unlike before, though, she had no cube to defer the process to - she was inside the slowed time as well. She watched MeLaan zip across the gap, pause for a fraction of a second to pick up the cube, and then zip back towards them-

-and then she found herself suddenly shoved back into the regular flow of time as an aluminium bullet tore through her bubble. 

She staggered back, thrown off-balance by the unexpected shift, and recovered just in time to see MeLaan topple to the ground as a particularly well-placed shot took one of her legs out from under her. 

She tumbled across the ground for a few feet, but then, in a feat of inhuman agility, managed to get her feet underneath her and turn it into a half-skid, half-slide motion. It still cost her most of her momentum, though, and the Set took it as an opportunity to _thoroughly_ disprove Wax’s theory that they were conserving ammunition.

A veritable storm of gunfire rang out as the kandra’s form was riddled with bullets, the force of them enough to actually push her back a foot or two. 

A wordless scream of anguish tore through the air, audible even over the gunfire, and a second later Marasi realised it had come from her own throat. 

The gunfire ceased, leaving a faint echo bouncing around the warehouse. MeLaan’s form was barely recognisable as a person, just a limp pile of blood and meat, the metal of her aluminium bones gleaming through in places. She moved slightly, trying to push herself up, but her arms collapsed out from underneath her, the muscles too shredded and torn to operate properly. She was already starting to heal, but Marasi could hear the soldiers starting to move closer, and knew that it would be too late. 

Those thoughts were a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind, though; the vast majority was too preoccupied with the hollow, sick feeling that seeing MeLaan brutalised like that had inspired. Even knowing that bullets couldn’t kill her, that her brain was still safe inside its aluminium casing...

Well, wasn’t the whole lesson of the past few days that MeLaan was a person just like her?

And despite everything, despite everything she’d accepted as the unfortunate realities of life, Marasi Colms still hated seeing other people get hurt. 

Especially people she cared about.

Without even thinking, she stepped out from behind cover, dropping to one knee and dropping three of the approaching soldiers in rapid succession. Then, as the rest of them yelled and retreated, she dropped Valediction and darted over to where MeLaan had fallen. grabbing her by the armpits and beginning to drag her back towards safety. She heard the crack of gunfire, and without looking, instinctively threw up a bubble for just long enough to deflect the shots before dropping it again. It was only a few yards, but with the added weight it felt like a mile or more. She stumbled, nearly losing her balance, and her side screamed at her as she presumably tore a ligament, but then the world around her froze as a bendalloy bubble dropped around them, and another set of hands were helping her move MeLaan. 

Together, she and Wayne carried her back into cover, the bubble disappearing as soon as they did.

Marasi let MeLaan down, sagging against the wall as the weight of her exertions hit her. Wayne was saying something in one ear and Wax was yelling something in the other, but they both sounded strangely hollow and distant, the pain in her side throbbing and drowning them out.

Marasi looked down, and found a blossom of red growing on her shirt just below her navel.

“Oh,” she said weakly. “I think I’ve been shot.”

And then she fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter: sometimes you have all the important bits written, but stitching them together takes more work than you were expecting.
> 
> telsin's betrayal didn't really have much weight in canon imo, and here you all already know it's going to happen so its potentially even less impactful. my solution for counteracting this is to make her as cool and sexy and interesting as possible, which i think is very smart of me
> 
> notes:  
> \- ‘ase’ is pronounced ‘A-say’, like the short ‘a’ in apple. ‘else’ is pronounced ‘ELL-say’. given that they both have ‘sin’ in them, im assuming that telsin is her terris name.  
> \- did i use the phrase ‘rounded a corner’ a weirdly high number of times in this chapter or is my brain just breaking again  
> \- MeLaan using they pronouns for Allik doesnt reflect any character changes, she's just the only woke one.  
> \- telsin being a doctor is based on literally nothing, dont @ me  
> \- bit of an interstitial chapter, but sometimes you just gotta interstitch. sometimes you need like seven different things to happen in order for some specific things to happen later, and so you just cram them all into one chapter. sometimes you're just making it all up. shrug.  
> \- if you saw me making a _Community_ reference then no you didnt


	13. Le Genre Ennuyeux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Tous les genres sont bons,  
> Hors **le genre ennuyeux**.  
> (All genres are good,  
> Except the boring one.)
> 
> ― Gioacchino Rossini, citing Voltaire 

The first time Marasi came to, the world was full of pain and blood. 

The sensations from her body felt dim and muted, but the vicious, flaring ache of her gunshot wound was no less awful for it. She could faintly taste something metallic in her mouth, feel something wet and slightly sticky coating her hands and forearms - both blood, she gathered after a few moments. There was a great deal of jostling and shouting around her, and when she managed through great and heroic effort to open her eyes, she found that the room they were in was shaking quite dramatically.

“The medallions!” a strange voice yelled, in an even stranger accent. “We need the medallions, O Splendiferous One!”

“Need them for _what?!_ ” _Oh, that’s Wax. He’s probably got the situation handled, then._ Feeling reassured, she found herself drifting towards unconsciousness again, only to be brought back by a hand shaking her shoulder.

“-si? Marasi, hey, can you hear me?”

Marasi whimpered incoherently as the jostling agitated her wound.

“Shit,” the voice said. “Sorry, sorry.” She was having trouble focusing, but the voice was familiar and comforting. Someone she trusted? A name floated just out of reach, hovering on the other side of the line between consciousness and un- that she was currently straddling.

“Here,” another voice said, “let me just-” 

A hand took her face, rough and calloused but gentle in its movements, and carefully pulled open one eye. Marasi winced away from the light, but the hand stayed firm. Something moved back and forth across her blurry vision, and she tracked it as best she could, trying to identify it.

“She’s cogent,” the second voice confirmed. “Not sure for how long, though. You have the-”

“Yeah, here.” 

Something cold and metallic pressed into Marasi’s palm, and she felt fingers curl around her own, clasping her hand closed around it.

“You need to make yourself lighter, Mara,” that familiar voice said. “Can you do that for me?”

 _Oh,_ Marasi thought, _they must have confused me with Wax._ “No,” she managed to mumble. “M’ a Pulser, not… Skimmer.”

“I know, Mara,” the voice said, a hint of fondness breaking through the frustration. “Can you just try it for me, please?”

Marasi definitely knew she liked that voice, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to try it for them, surely?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt… something. It was familiar but also not, like… like the way the first seconds of a burn feel cold even though they aren’t. She felt lighter, _physically_ lighter, exactly the way Wax had always described it. 

Somehow, she was a Skimmer now.

“Neat,” she managed to mumble, then passed out again.

* * *

The second time Marasi came to, she felt _amazing._

She had a pleasantly warm blanket draped over her, contrasting nicely with the sharp bite of the chilly air. Not only did she still feel physically lighter, the cool press of metal moved from her hand to her bicep along with the slight scratch of a fabric band, but her pain was _gone._ Not just the pain from her wound, but _all_ of them, all the minor aches and pains that slowly accumulated as part of being alive; they were all gone. She felt relaxed, and stress-free, and… just _amazing,_ really.

“Telsin?” That was… MeLaan’s voice, yes. She sounded worried, though, which was no good. Marasi didn’t want MeLaan to be worried, she wanted her to be happy, and possibly other things that weren’t quite coming to mind now. “She’s waking up. Is she _supposed_ to be waking up?”

“Hm?” And that one was Telsin, yep. Telsin was… Marasi didn’t really want her to be _happy_ specifically, she just wanted to… impress her? Yes, that sounded right. Like- her other friend. The... grease one. Oil? It was something like that, she was pretty sure. “Ah, nothing to be concerned about. This happens sometimes during surgeries - most often, the patient will have no recollection afterwards.” 

“Oh. Okay.” MeLaan sighed, sounding fatigued. 

“Nnnno,” Marasi managed to murmur, managing to get her eyes just open enough to squint. “Don’ be sad.” 

After a second to adjust to the light, the sight in front of her resolved into focus. She _did_ have a blanket over her shoulders, but what she’d taken for the warmth on top of her was actually the press of two bodies, with Telsin and MeLaan both positioned strangely in order to allow them both access to her stomach.

MeLaan glanced up briefly and flashed her a tired smile. “I’m not sad, don’t worry. Just tired.”

“Oh, okay.” That was good. 

MeLaan returned her attention to whatever the two of them were doing on her abdomen (which she found herself surprisingly unconcerned about). Instead, Marasi inspected the profiles of their faces, brows furrowed in concentration, strands of hair being occasionally brushed out of eyes.

It felt like she should be uncomfortable with having two women splayed on top of her like that, especially _these_ two women, but she couldn’t quite seem to recall the reason _why_. As far as she was concerned, it was amazing all round. 

“Hellloooo,” she trilled, leaning forward slightly and batting her eyelashes. “Hi.”

Telsin ignored her, but MeLaan glanced up, then did a quick double-take. “Uh- hi?”

The eyelash-batting seemed to have an effect, so Marasi doubled down on it. “Come here often?” she asked, giggling through the words.

“Telsin?” MeLaan asked nervously. " _What_ is happening."

"It's to be expected," Telson said briskly, still focused on her work. "The poppy serum is known to have euphoric side-effects - it's derived from the same plant as opium. Rather like being drunk, but without the depressant effect of alcohol."

"Well," MeLaan said weakly, "the more you know. How long is she going to be… like this?"

"Another hour or two, but if she hasn't fallen asleep before then I'll be very surprised. Could you patch this part of the intestine, please?”

“Oh, yes. Right.” MeLaan returned her attention to their work, and Marasi, curious, leaned down slightly to try and get a look. The angle wasn’t conducive to a good line of sight, but through their hands and the tools Telsin was using, she could vaguely make out streaks of red and pink, and she belatedly realised that she was looking at a section of her own exposed internal organs. 

“Huh,” she said, and then giggled as a thought occurred to her. “Hey,” she whispered, leaning in closer to MeLaan. “Hey, MeLaan. Guess what?”

MeLaan looked up. “What?”

“ _You’re inside me_.” Marasi giggled at her own joke as she straightened up. “Get it? Like _sex_.”

Telsin made a strange noise, and MeLaan made an equally strange expression. “...I get it,” the kandra said slowly, voice wavering. “Very... clever.”

“I _am_ ,” Marasi agreed, staring at MeLaan’s face. “I am _very_ clever, and _you_ are _very_ pretty, so we’re a _good_ combination.” She frowned. “Do people tell you that? That you’re pretty? They should tell you that all the time.”

Telsin was still making strange noises, even as she continued to work. “Well-” MeLaan said, sounding confused. “I- put a lot of effort into my faces, so thank you, I suppose?”

“Nonono,” Marasi said, shaking her head. “Not pretty _here_ -” and she tried to tap the other woman’s nose but ended up awkwardly splaying her hand over her face instead, “pretty _here._ ”

She dropped her hand down, thumping it lightly against her chest.

“My… breasts?”

“No!” Marasi protested hotly. “We-ell, yes, but no! I meant _inside_.” She thumped her again for emphasis. “You’re a pretty _person_. You know what I mean?”

MeLaan’s face was all red now, which was odd, because normally it was Marasi who did that. “Uh…”

“Your breasts are _also_ pretty, don’t worry,” Marasi reassured her. “Very nice to look at.”

“Marasi,” MeLaan said a little frantically, “why don’t you try and go back to sleep? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

That _did_ sound pretty nice. “I want to keep talking to you, though. I _like_ talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too, Marasi, but we’ll have plenty of time later. Just- close your eyes, okay? Try and relax?”

“‘Kay,” Marasi murmured, eyelids already drooping downwards. “We can… talk about your breasts more later…”

She could feel sleep looming, but wasn’t fully willing to let go and embrace it just yet. The others were still talking, after all, and she wanted to know what about.

“Telsin,” MeLaan was saying, slightly tense. “I should explain-”

“If you’re going to try and explain that away, don’t bother.”

Even in her current state of relaxation, Marasi could recognise a dangerously tense silence when she heard one.

“...I’d suggest,” MeLaan said after a second, voice cold and hard in a way that made Marasi all pleasantly shivery, “you reconsider that decision.”

Telsin’s voice, on the other hand, was nothing but confused. “Decision? What- _oh._ Oh, I see. I’m sorry, I spoke without thinking. No, I have no ill intent towards Miss Colms for her preferences, don’t worry. I only meant for you to save yourself the effort of concocting an excuse.”

MeLaan let out a slow breath. “Okay. Good. Sorry for leaping down your throat, then. I was just… worried.”

“No apology necessary - I’m well aware it’s prudent. Is that something that Faceless Immortals share with us, then? Prejudice and discrimination and the ilk.”

A frustrated sigh. “I’m not worried for _myself,_ I’m worried for _her._ ”

“Ah,” Telsin said, contemplative. “I see. Well, in that case, you still have nothing to fear, vicariously or otherwise. I may no longer practice, but I do still hold to at least that much of my oaths.”

“Not all of them?”

Telsin chuckled wryly. “Well, some of them are surprisingly prohibitive to everyday life. And I think ‘do no harm’ is fairly rusted at this point.”

MeLaan actually laughed at that one, if only slightly. “...thank you, then. For your confidentiality.”

“Mm.” Marasi hadn’t really understood… anything that had just been said, so she gave up on trying to stay awake and let herself start to sink down into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.

The last thing she remembered hearing, as if from a great distance, was Telsin’s voice. “I don’t suppose I have to ask if it’s reciprocated, do I.”

“Oh, Harmony,” MeLaan groaned, but Telsin laughed, so Marasi figured that whatever they were talking about, it was probably fine.

* * *

The third time Marasi came to, there was a head resting on her shoulder.

It was the slowest of her returns to consciousness, and the most reluctant. The burning pain had dimmed to a dull, bone-deep ache just above her right hip, and she felt deeply, truly exhausted, more so than she could ever remember being before. It took an active effort to not just slip back into sleep, but she forced herself through it, feeling a sourceless but ironclad desperation to resume the urgent task she was sure she’d been doing beforehand. 

The breeze was cold against the skin of her right arm, and so she started taking deep, slow breaths in and out, letting the cool air fill her lungs. Strangely, her left arm was still warm, and she made the belated connection between that fact and the head resting on her shoulder, and realised that someone was sitting next to her, sharing her blanket. 

With a bit of effort, she cracked open one eye, and found a distinctive head of blonde hair obstructing most of her vision.

“Steris?” Marasi asked quietly. Her voice came out croaky and hoarse, sounding like an elderly woman.

Steris stirred, eyes opening slightly, and then shot into full alertness as she made eye contact. “Marasi!” she exclaimed, sitting upright. “Oh, thank the Survivor you’re okay.”

Tears were beading in the corner of her eyes, and she immediately wrapped Marasi up in a tight hug, holding her close and tight.

Marasi would have normally been shocked at such an open display of emotion from her sister, but she was somewhat distracted by how the jostling made the wound in her side scream in pain.

She hissed, pushing her away. “Ah! Steris, careful!”

Her sister pulled away immediately, mortification clear on her face. “Oh- Oh, Survivor, I’m sorry, Marasi, I was just so worried-”

“It’s alright,” Marasi said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry for making you worry, and I’m glad to be okay as well. Just- no hugs, for now?”

“Of course,” Steris said immediately, nodding.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, and Marasi glanced up to see MeLaan standing over her. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“I could say the same for you,” Marasi replied weakly. It felt like only minutes ago she’d been dragging MeLaan’s mutilated, bloodied form through the dirt, and now, here she stood again, looking as hale and hearty as ever. Although, the more Marasi looked at her, the more signs of exhaustion seemed to become clear - there were no bags under her eyes or anything that obvious, but she had a sort of haggard weariness to her. 

“Well, you know,” MeLaan said, laughing it off, “I could do with a solid meal or three, but a couple of bullets ain’t enough to bring me down. Which, by the way,” she added more seriously, “we are going to _talk_ about later.”

“Ah,” Marasi said awkwardly, “right. Yes.”

“You’re awake, good.” Telsin appeared from behind MeLaan and crouched down next to Marasi, setting a bag on the floor next to her. “How are you feeling?” The older woman’s exhaustion was more visibly obvious than MeLaan’s; she looked alert, but worn thin, and there was still blood on her clothes.

“Tired,” Marasi said honestly. “And sore-”

“Sorry,” Steris said, somewhat sheepish.

“-but I’ll take it over being dead. How long has it been?”

“About a day since leaving the warehouse,” Telsin answered, “give or take a few hours.”

Marasi frowned - she didn’t feel like she’d been out for that long. “Did I… wake up?” she asked, trying to remember. She had some vague memories of… something about confidentiality, maybe? 

MeLaan looked away, coughing awkwardly. 

“You did, yes,” Telsin answered, obviously not sharing whatever compunction held MeLaan back. “It was only for a few minutes, and you were mostly incoherent due to the sedation. Which,” she continued, pre-empting Marasi’s question, “is very normal, yes. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“...I see,” Marasi said. “Well, with that settled, would anyone care to explain how we are _flying?!_ ”

MeLaan snickered fondly, the sound sending a warm shiver through Marasi. “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”

If she hadn’t already been sitting down, Marasi would have needed to as the others gave her the briefest of rundowns of their current situation. People from the other side of the equator, flying ships, medallions that granted Feruchemy… it was enough to set Marasi’s head spinning. The stranger, who had removed his mask to reveal a shockingly normal face and introduced himself as ‘Allik’, ducked back from the front of the ‘skimmer’ for a few minutes, leaving Wayne in what Marasi gathered to be the steering compartment. His explanation of the medallions was helpful, but somewhat marred by the constant, effusive titles he desperately crammed in at every opportunity, and Marasi was relieved when he finally returned to the front (not in the least because Wayne being in charge of the ship was a truly terrifying prospect).

“He saw you burning metals,” MeLaan had explained once he was out of earshot. “Seems like Metalborn are kinda like the noble class of his people - he’s been doing the same thing to Wax, but we don’t think he’s figured out about Wayne yet.”

From there, the conversation had turned to their current plan of action. Marasi had assumed, seeing as they’d retrieved both Telsin and the spike, that they had been heading back towards Elendel, but it turned out that they were headed into the mountains that the warehouse had been located at the base of. According to Telsin, the Set were quite certain that the Bands were both real and hidden away in the mountains, information verified by Allik, whose crew had seen the temple in question with their own eyes.

Marasi couldn’t argue with the logic, but she could have done without the commensurate weather conditions. The sides of the skimmer were open to the air, with only a small lip at the bottom, and snow swirled past them as they flew, lightly dusting the edges of the interior. The temperature was the kind of brisk that only barely shied away from being outright cold, and the air had a sort of crispness to it that Marasi had never experienced before. It would have been bracing under normal circumstances, but in her current state she already felt sufficiently braced without the assistance. 

“According to Allik,” MeLaan was saying, “we should be able to reach the temple in about six hours, provided the weather holds. Unfortunately, we’re pretty sure we’ve seen the Set trekking up towards it as well, so we’ve got _that_ to deal with when we get there.”

“Wonderful,” Marasi sighed. “Things can’t ever go simply for us, can they?”

MeLaan grinned half-heartedly. “Well, what fun would that be?”

While they’d been talking, Telsin had been doing something with Marasi’s wound and the bandages covering it. Her position, half-draped over Marasi’s legs, was both intensely uncomfortable and strangely familiar, and when she pulled back with the bandages in hand, Marasi sighed in relief.

She looked down, expecting to see a set of stitches, and instead found a clean but still-open wound, the flesh and muscle inside still visible.

“Telsin,” MeLaan sighed. “I was going to warn her first.”

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Marasi asked, doing her best to stay calm, "I truly don't. But is there a _reason_ there is still a hole in me?!" The pitch of her voice rose rapidly on the last few words as her burgeoning panic slipped out of her control. 

"Hey, whoa," MeLaan said, grabbing her hand. "It's okay, Mara, it's okay." Her thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of Marasi’s hand, and slowly she began to relax, focusing on the rhythm, the feel of MeLaan’s skin on her own. “You’re fine, I promise.”

Telsin turned to Steris, face serious. “Steris, would you mind going up front and letting the others know Marasi is awake?” 

It was the sort of subtle cue that Marasi wouldn’t have used, but thankfully this time the message seemed to get across. Her sister nodded seriously, and gave Marasi’s hand one last reassuring squeeze before she climbed to her feet and made her way down towards the front of the ship. 

“Thank you,” Marasi said weakly. “I’d like that explanation now, please.”

Telsin nodded, businesslike and calm. “We cleaned out the wound and stabilised you, but haven’t done anything more yet because we wanted to be able to consult you first.”

“Consult me about... what?”

"What I would normally do,” Telsin said, “is sterilise the wound, stitch it closed, and bandage it while we allowed your body to heal naturally. There would likely be no scarring, and you wouldn’t suffer any long-term damage, but given where the wound is, I would highly recommend against any strenuous physical activity for at _least_ a month, if not longer. Otherwise, you’re at risk of re-opening the wound and possibly doing permanent harm to yourself.”

Based on her manner, Marasi had no trouble at all believing the other woman had been a doctor for quite a few years. "Judging by the way you're phrasing it," she said cautiously, "I'm guessing there's an alternative?"

MeLaan nodded, face grim. "The _alternative_ is that I get in there and do some _very_ complicated, very technical stuff that leaves you right as rain and back on your feet. _But,_ it will _definit_ e _ly_ leave a fairly ugly scar, and it's going to hurt like the absolute Pits."

“It’s entirely your decision,” Telsin added, “and as the closest thing to a medical professional in this situation, I feel I should stress that no-one should look down on you for either choice, and I will personally take it up with anyone who does.” At that, she cracked a small smile. “Forcibly, if necessary.”

Marasi chuckled, then winced as her wound was agitated. “Thank you, Telsin.”

“We can give you a few minutes alone to decide, if you need,” MeLaan said, her voice achingly soft.

Marasi actually started to lift a hand, going to touch her face before catching herself. “That won’t be necessary. Just… give me a moment to think?”

On one hand, her decision seemed almost blindingly obvious - one got her back on her feet, while the other had her sitting around like an invalid. Maybe it was arrogant, but something in her recoiled at the idea of a glaring scar. She wasn’t a _vain_ person, she liked to think, but she was young and fit and healthy, and a scar across her torso ruined one of the only things she had going for her.

But, then again, from another perspective it wasn’t as if she had much to _lose_ on that front either, was it? 

And really, when it came down to it, she wasn’t going to sit around on the sidelines while everyone else risked their lives, not again.

Never again.

Marasi nodded. “Do it.”

The corner of MeLaan’s mouth flickered up in a crooked smirk. “I figured you’d say that.” She leant down again, then added, “...and maybe find something to distract yourself? Cause I don’t have the same pain receptors as you do, but I’m _pretty_ sure this is going to hurt.”

Then, there was a brief, disconcerting sensation of something _moving_ into her wound, which was immediately eclipsed by a bright, burning flare of pain. 

Marasi gritted her teeth, letting out a long, slow hiss. It felt like she was being _burned_ right down to the bone, along with another sensation that was akin to what she’d always imagined being struck by lightning would feel like. 

“I’m sorry,” Telsin said apologetically. “We only have a limited amount of painkiller, and I need to conserve what’s left in case of an emergency.”

“It’s fine,” Marasi ground out, although the idea of painkiller sounded extremely appealing at that particular moment. “Better to- keep a clear head, anyway.”

She made the mistake of trying to breathe through her nose, and immediately gagged at the foul smell wafting up. “Oh, _Survivor,_ ” she coughed. “If you could smell this in books, I’d never have picked up another novel again.”

“Oh? You’re a reader, then?” Telsin asked, sounding genuinely interested. “Do- ah, I’m sorry, this is probably not the best time.”

“No, _please_ ,” Marasi said desperately, “ _please_ distract me, or I might- _urp._ ” She barely managed to quash the rising bile. “Might do something we’ll all regret.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Telsin agreed. “Pulp novels, then?”

“Mm,” Marasi agreed, staring at the ceiling and trying to breathe through her mouth. “I read a lot when I was younger, as all- lonely children are legally obligated to.” That got a light chuckle. “I enjoyed the pulps best, and even when I grew up a little- _rust and ruin,_ ow. Grew up a little more, I never lost that.” She almost laughed, but remembered just in time. “It turned into a bit of an obsession, to be honest. I’d have been running around in a mistcoat if I could have gotten away with it.”

“I… see,” Telsin said. She tried to hide it, but Marasi could hear the disappointment seeping through in her tone.

“I take it you’re not a fan,” she said.

Telsin laughed ruefully. “Caught me, I’m afraid. It’s never been… a particular favourite of mine.”

“It’s okay,” Marasi said, “I won’t- try and defend them. Especially not since meeting Waxillium in person, hah. Sometimes it’s just- comforting. A world where cleverness and friendship and loyalty are more powerful- _fffffrick_.” She gasped as a particularly intense spike of pain shot through her. “More powerful than guns or metallic arts.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Telsin said, sounding as if she really didn’t.

“What do you- prefer, then?” Marasi asked.

“Literary fiction, sometimes the more speculative side of things. I like… stories about progress, about the strength of the human spirit and the individual, that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” Marasi said. “Sounds… interesting?” It didn’t, but it was just what you said.

“Don’t worry, Miss Colms, I won’t be insulted if you show as little interest in my reading preferences as I did yours.”

“Marasi,” she said without thinking. “You can call me Marasi.”

Telsin inclined her head in acknowledgement, glancing down at her bag of medical supplies. “Marasi it is. Well, seeing as that particular topic doesn’t seem fruitful, do you have any others?”

Marasi frowned, pondering. The conversation was definitely helping - it didn’t make the pain go away, but it distracted her from it. 

“Can I…” she started hesitantly. Telsin looked up from her bag, eyes piercing and sharp, and for a second the words flew completely out of her head. “...ah, I was just wondering- why did you give it up? Being a doctor, I mean- if it’s not too familiar?”

The corner of Telsin’s mouth twitched up. “I’ve had my hands inside your stomach,” she said wryly. “I think we’re allowed to be a little familiar.”

Reminded of its existence, the pain came rushing back, and Marasi had to grind her jaw to stay still.

“Ah, sorry,” Telsin said. “To answer your question… it wasn’t one large moment; more an aggregate of smaller ones that only became monumental in hindsight.”

Marasi nodded sympathetically. It was quite similar to how she’d felt about her solicitor’s training, but she didn’t want to interrupt to say as much. 

Telsin continued to talk as she reorganised the medicine bag, eyes distant. “It was always my own form of rebellion, to be honest. Not that I didn’t pursue it for its own sake - you don’t get through medical school without conviction - but it was how it started. I suppose it says a lot about Uncle that both of us found our own way to escape - one to the Roughs, the other to the operating room.”

“...I suppose it does, yes.”

“The point is, my motivation wasn’t… deeply-held, you might say. Frankly, sometimes I’m surprised it took so long for me to give it up. As for _why…_ ” she trailed off, looking pensive. “I was _tired_ , I think. I’d wanted to help people, and I had been, but not in any sort of way that _mattered._ In the decade I worked in that clinic, I saw the same injuries, heard the same stories, over and over and over, and I could treat the wounds but the causes of them…” She glanced up at Marasi, her eyes contemplative. “You’re a Survivorist, yes?”

“Ah- yes?” Marasi stammered, caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. “Not… particularly devout but I was raised in the faith.”

“Ah, interesting. It might not have quite the same effect, then, if I say I had something of a crisis of faith with Harmony.”

Marasi felt MeLaan still for a moment, before resuming her work. 

“Because- of pointless suffering?”

Telsin smiled sadly. “Something like that, yes. I mean-” she gestured around them. “Look at this! Allik’s people seem to have gone through great hardships just to survive, and yet they’ve advanced so much further than any of us thought possible. We in the Basin had every advantage handed to us, and yet instead of looking forward and improving ourselves, we just find new ways to harm and dehumanise each other!” 

Telsin had grown almost feverish by the end, something wild and passionate sparking in her eyes. As quickly as it had come, though, it vanished, and she sagged as the fire went out. “At least, that was how I felt at the time. These days, I find myself… significantly more numb to it all. Especially after… this past year.” 

She seemed… empty, all of a sudden, and Marasi couldn’t help but reach out. 

“Are you… okay?” she asked. “Not that- I mean, _no_ , of course you’re not _okay_ , but you’re getting by, right?”

Telsin smiled gently at her. “It’s kind of you to ask, Marasi.”

Marasi blushed, but managed to stay resolute. “That… wasn’t exactly an answer.”

The smile turned weary. “No, it wasn’t.” She ran a hand through her hair - a little tic of hers, Marasi had noticed - and huffed out a shaky breath. “To be honest, I don’t think it’s had a chance to quite settle in, yet. We’ve been running around and getting shot at and _flying_ and then-” she gestured down at where MeLaan was still working away, silent in her concentration. “I suspect that if nothing happens in the next few hours, I might fully break down.” 

“Knowing us,” Marasi said, “it almost certainly will.”

“And on that cheery note,” MeLaan said from below her, “we’re all finished here.”

Marasi blinked. The pain had been fading for a while, she realised; she’d gotten too wrapped up in the conversation to notice. 

MeLaan sat back on her knees, breathing heavily. “Give us a stretch?” 

Marasi obliged, bracing in anticipation of a flare of pain that never came. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

“Indeed,” Telsin murmured, staring down at the wound. Marasi did the same, brushing her fingers over the thin, raised ridge of red scar tissue. It was only about three inches long, barely half an inch at the widest point, and far less prominent than she'd been expecting based on MeLaan's warnings.

Instinctively, she went to brush her shirt out of the way to get a better look, only to realise that she'd actually just moved a draping section of the blanket.

Marasi looked down and properly looked at her own torso for the first time, which she realised with mounting horror was covered only by her workaday brassiere and absolutely nothing else.

“MeLaan,” she asked, voice unnaturally calm and steady. “Pray tell, how long have I been shirtless?”

MeLaan winced, staring up at the ceiling. “...look, in our defence, it was kind of hard to operate on you with a shirt in the way.”

"I see," she said stiffly. "I see. If you'll excuse me, I'll just throw myself out the side of the ship now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 23/09: been a bit of a fucking week. just gonna push the update back to next tuesday to avoid stressing about it
> 
> really sorry for the extreme lateness of this one. it just kept getting bigger - i almost cut it when Marasi makes her decision, but without the Telsin conversation the chapter didn't really feel like it had a point, imo. plus im trying *really* hard to keep to my outline and avoid bloat.
> 
> (also gilfest just dropped on FGO NA and my obsession with optimising my AP means its kind of taken over my life - but on the plus side, lvl 100 medea baybee)
> 
> ((if you have no idea what any of those words mean, god i wish that were me))
> 
> notes:  
> \- yes Telsin reads basically scadrian Ayn Rand  
> \- wasnt 100% sure where scadrial is at wrt painkillers so I just went with opium derivatives which are generally a fairly safe bet  
> \- wayne is mentioned storing health while asleep - or at least, sleeping due to being sick while storing health. im taking this to mean that you can in fact continue storing while you’re unconscious - along with the basic fact that no one on the airship crew would ever get any sleep otherwise  
> \- can you tell how much fun I had writing the middle section  
> \- the conversation about books is a surprise tool that will help us later  
> \- i didnt write telsin being a doctor with this chapter in mind, but it all worked out quite nicely when we got here


	14. There's Good Eating On A Tortoise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > And a minute later the tortoise finds the world dropping away from it. And it sees the world for the first time, no longer one inch from the ground but five hundred feet above it, and it thinks: what a great friend I have in the eagle.  
> And then the eagle lets go. And almost always the tortoise plunges to its death. Everyone knows why the tortoise does this. Gravity is a habit that is hard to shake off. No one knows why the eagle does this. **There’s good eating on a tortoise** but, considering the effort involved, there’s much better eating on practically anything else. It’s simply the delight of eagles to torment tortoises.  
> But of course, what the eagle does not realize is that it is participating in a very crude form of natural selection.  
> One day a tortoise will learn how to fly. 
> 
> \- Terry Pratchett, _Small Gods_

“There! Right there!”

Marasi frowned, adjusting the eyeglass. “I’m sorry, MeLaan. I really don’t see anything.” To her eyes, the mountainside was just an endless sea of white with occasional patches of grey. 

“ _Really_?” MeLaan asked sceptically. “Not even a little blurry shape or something?”

“Well I’m sorry,” Marasi said testily, passing the eyeglass back to Telsin, “but not all of us have the ability to fine-tune the shape of our eyes.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” MeLaan said. “Humans are dumb.”

“Believe me,” Marasi sighed, “I’ve had the same thought more than a few times.”

The three of them were standing on one side of the skimmer, peering out at the icy mountainside below. A few minutes beforehand, MeLaan had insisted she’d seen a glimpse of the Set, but neither Telsin nor Marasi had been able to spot anything, even with the eyeglass that Wax had helpfully provided before moving back over to the other side to brood. Well, Marasi was sure he’d call it something like ‘planning’ or ‘meditating’, but considering the intense aura that was practically radiating off of him, Marasi felt pretty safe calling it ‘brooding’. 

Steris was sat in the middle of the skimmer, calmly reading a book as if she were catching a train and not hundreds of yards off the ground, while Allik and Wayne occupied the driver’s compartment, the strange Southerner piloting the vehicle while Wayne kept him company. From the snippets Marasi had caught, they were talking about the masks Allik’s people wore, a discussion into which Wayne had of course managed to insert the subject of hats. It had been a lively, ongoing debate, and had assuaged some of the lingering concerns Marasi had been harbouring about Wayne - at the very least, it was a source of distraction. 

“Oh, hold on,” Telsin said, adjusting the eyeglass slightly. “I believe I just spotted something.” She’d finally changed out of the bloodstained, tattered day-dress she’d been wearing when they’d found her, and was now wearing one of Wax’s spare shirts and trousers, tan and dark grey respectively, with the shirt tucked in and its sleeves rolled up. Marasi’s clothes had been similarly ruined, but thankfully it turned out that Wax had managed to collect a few of their essential suitcases when he went back to grab Steris, and she was able to wear her own clothes, clean and smelling faintly of soap. 

In the few hours since Marasi had woken up, both women had been hovering around her - MeLaan trying to at least pretend she wasn’t, Telsin not even bothering with the pretense. She understood _why_ they were doing it - she knew enough anatomy to know that the gunshot wound she’d taken was a fatal one under normal circumstances, and while she currently felt perfectly fine, keeping her under close observation was just exercising reasonable caution. 

It didn’t make it any less stifling though.

“Yeah?” MeLaan asked, squinting down. “Near that, uh… rock that looks kinda like a lion?”

“The rock that… oh, yes, I suppose so. Then, yes.”

"Let me try again," Marasi said, taking the eyeglass back. She found a rock that could match MeLaan's description, but couldn't make out-

She started, as a flicker of movement below allowed her eyes to finally resolve the amalgam of muted colours below into a thin line of moving people. Her excitement only lasted a second, though, before she remembered that this was a _bad_ thing. “Oh,” she repeated glumly. “Well, blast.”

“How many are there?” Wax asked from the other side of the cabin.

“Hard to say,” MeLaan replied. “Path curves a bit back. They’ve, uh-”

She paused, glancing back at the driver’s compartment, then lowering her voice. “They’ve got a chunk of people in chains in the middle.”

“Who-” Marasi began to ask, then connected the dots between where she’d looked and the subject. “...you don’t think-?”

“Probably,” MeLaan said, grimly. “On the plus side, at least they’re alive?”

“For now,” Telsin added darkly. 

MeLaan glanced at her, clucking her teeth. “ _Thank you_ for that, Telsin,” she said. “I’m sure that’ll be a _real_ comfort to Allik.”

“...right. Apologies.”

Now that it had been pointed out to her, Marasi could see the distinction between the two groups - the way that a chunk of the people in the middle of the procession were clustered closely together, with a larger gap between them and others than was present elsewhere. It might have been her overactive imagination, but she almost thought she could see the glinting of chains in the bright glare reflecting off the snow. 

“Allik?” she asked, raising her voice over the wind. “How much longer to the temple, do you think?”

“Eh, two hours? Maybe three? I don’t know, is the medallion translating that?”

“It’s fine, yes!” She looked back to the Set, frowning. She’d thought she’d been imagining it at first, but now that she’d had a bit more time to compare, it was clear she’d seen true. 

It made a sort of sense, when she actually thought about it. The skimmer let them move in a straight line, but they were doing so _slowly._ As far as Marasi understood, the entire operation of the vehicle rested on it being as light as possible, which made it especially susceptible to being moved about by the winds. And as they ascended up the mountain, the gale only grew stronger and stronger, until it was a struggle to make any forward progress at all. 

The Set may have had to wind back and forth along a path, but even on foot, in the snow and ice, they were still moving _faster_ than the _Wilg_.

Whether that would become the tipping point in the race they were having remained to be seen.

“I can try for more speed,” Allik called back, after she’d finished relaying her thoughts. “Maybe rough, though, so hide from your mother-in-law, ya?”

_Guess the medallion doesn’t do so well with idioms._

The skimmer rocked slightly as the wind outside picked up, and Marasi had to grab onto the side of the ship to keep her balance.

 _There should_ really _be some kind of safety harness,_ she mused. _Then again, when your entire crew are Skimmers, I suppose there’s not much danger in a fall._

“Allik,” Wax called out, voice cutting through the noise. “What’s happening?”

“Turbulence!” Allik replied at the same volume. “The winds, they’re getting stronger as we go higher! _Wilg,_ she is not meant for these conditions!”

“Will we need to go much higher than this?” Marasi called back over the roaring winds.

Allik’s response was drowned out by another particularly loud gust.

“Maybe we should-” MeLaan started to yell, gripping the roof of the skimmer to hold herself in place. Before she could finish the sentence, though, the ship lurched again, far more violently than it had before. Marasi’s grip on the cold metal faltered, the side they were standing on rocked dangerously towards the ground, and she felt the lip around the edge of the compartment hit her ankles as she tipped forward and fell out the side.

As soon as she was even slightly out of the skimmer, the wind pulled at her, sending her almost as much backwards as downwards. She flailed, a shocked shriek escaping from her throat as she was tugged backwards and out of the skimmer entirely, her medallion-powered lightness making her easily tugged along by the wind.

Instinctively, she stopped storing her weight. 

This was successful at stopping her from being blown away like a sheet of paper, but significantly less successful when it came to not falling to her death.

For a second, her stomach rose into her throat as she began to _truly_ fall. Then, abruptly, her descent ceased, and she swung inwards towards the skimmer instead, her left leg acting as a pivot point.

Someone was screaming. After a moment, Marasi realised that it was her.

This did not improve her outlook on the situation in the slightest.

There was an inaudible yell from above her, and Marasi looked up just in time to jerk out of the way as something fell out of the skimmer, narrowly missing her head. Telsin was leaning out of the skimmer, one hand in a vice-like grip around Marasi’s calf, the other arm clinging to the side. Marasi had a surprisingly good view of the situation, mostly because the skimmer had tipped almost 45 degrees on its side.

“Balance the weight!” Allik cried desperately from above. “Need to balance the weight or we’ll-” 

The entire skimmer jolted as it hit another bit of turbulence, exacerbating the already-perilous angle it was sitting on. Thankfully, Telsin held on her firm to her leg, though she was obviously straining to do so.

“Too- heavy,” she grunted. “Medallion! Please!”

“O-oh,” Marasi stammered, the words penetrating the fog of terror around her brain. “Right! Yes, sorry-”

“Don’t _apologise!_ ” Telsin barked. “Just _do it!_ ”

Marasi nodded frantically. Which was a mistake, as it turned out; her brain was already protesting the sudden abundance of blood, and the rapid movement only worsened things further. Her vision went blurry - well, blurry- _er_ \- and for a second she thought she was going to pass out.

 _Light light light light,_ she repeated, a frantic, delirious mantra. Shockingly, it actually _worked;_ she once again began to be pulled backwards instead of down. 

(Strangely, the building pressure in her head _also_ lessened along with her weight; part of her delirious, blood-glutted brain thought that the strange lady from Kelesina’s party would probably be very interested in that).

Marasi felt another hand grab her leg, and twisted around to find that the skimmer had righted itself, and Steris had joined Telsin. As they hauled her back in, Marasi thanked the Survivor with every bone in her body that she was wearing trousers.

As soon as she was close enough, Steris stretched out one hand. Marasi grabbed it with her own, and together they pulled her the rest of the way back into the cabin, where she immediately dropped to the floor.

“Th-thanks,” she panted, trying to get her breath back. “Oh, Survivor.”

“Welcome,” Telsin replied, equally winded. “Maybe- don’t stop storing- next time.”

“If there’s a _next time_ ,” MeLaan said, “then I think there are bigger problems.” She and Wax were standing on the other side side of the skimmer - Marasi assumed that as the two heaviest people, they’d been trying to balance out the weight.

“What fell?” Marasi asked in between breaths. “Something- fell. Past me.”

Steris took a quick glance around. “We’re missing a small black bag with brown handles,” she declared authoritatively. “It was last over on that side near you.”

It was so like her to remember that, Marasi thought fondly. “Does- anyone know what- it was?”

“Yes,” Telsin said mournfully. “That was the medicine kit.”

“...well, look on the bright side,” MeLaan suggested after a few moments. “Maybe we got lucky, and they just fell on Edwarn’s head and killed him.”

A sharp bark of laughter ripped out of Telsin at that, genuine and surprisingly fierce. “Oh, wouldn’t that just be delightful.”

“It would certainly solve quite a few problems at once,” Marasi admitted ruefully. 

Having mostly recovered, she stood back up, and found Wayne staring at them over one shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and gaze steely. He quickly glanced away as Allik spoke up, but not soon enough to hide what he’d been doing. 

“Okay, okay,” Allik said, sounding nervous and stressed. “No more of that, I think? Please? We _will_ go faster with less people but I don’t think it’s a good solution.”

That got the chuckles it deserved, the last of the tension in the cabin dissipating away at the laughter. Wayne’s was the loudest by a good margin, and as Marasi watched, he quickly engaged Allik in conversation again, immediately back to his usual wisecracking self. 

“Marasi.” Marasi looked back to find Telsin staring at her, face grim. “I know we’re still practically strangers, so please forgive me if this is too forward.”

Marasi’s brain immediately leaped to some _wildly_ implausible scenarios, all of which she would have rather died than admit to another person. “Y-yes?”

“Please, _please_ , in my capacity as the only qualified medical professional in the vicinity if _nothing_ else… _please_ stop ending up in mortal danger?”

“I’ll… try?” Marasi offered tentatively.

Telsin sighed. “...you know what? I’ll take it.”

* * *

It really was remarkable, Marasi found herself thinking a few hours later, just how many places there were to hide in a space that was barely larger than a bedroom. 

After everything had settled back down, she had figured that the time until they arrived at the temple was the only guaranteed downtime she could see. It wasn’t the _best_ time for a serious conversation, but it was probably better than just leaving it hanging like she’d been doing.

The problem was, MeLaan evidently didn’t seem to agree.

In a frankly masterful display of situational awareness, she had _just so happened_ to be involved in another conversation or topic whenever Marasi tried to approach her. Worse, if Marasi actually managed to join a conversation, MeLaan would quickly find some natural way to bow out before Marasi could politely ask her to talk privately, and by the time Marasi extracted herself, she had already found something else to act as a buffer and the whole process repeated itself.

It was _incredibly_ frustrating, and frustratingly effective; Allik had informed them all a few minutes ago that the temple was just around the next blind - which was good, he’d added, as the _Wilg_ was also starting to run low on fuel.

Currently, Marasi was at the back of the ship with the bags, under the pretence of checking her gun case over. Wayne had consistently kept Allik company in the front of the ship - what Allik got out of it, she wasn’t sure, but Wayne seemed excited to have someone new and unbiased to share his… _unique_ insights with. 

Waxillium and Telsin were sitting on opposite sides of the frontmost bench behind the driver’s compartment, with Steris situated in between them. The tone had started out quite tense, but through Steris’s valiant efforts, she had eventually managed to defrost the taciturn situation into an actual conversation. Currently, they were discussing the secession issue, with Telsin speaking quite passionately against, Steris offering calm, rational opinions that leant slightly towards the secessionists, and Waxillium grunting the occasional, heavily individualist comment . MeLaan was leant against the partition between them and the driver’s compartment, arms folded, and seemed to be speaking more to reason for Ruin than out of any particular conviction. 

Marasi could have tried to insert herself into the conversation, possibly with her opinion as a member of the constabulary, but her patience and time were both running thin.

“Excuse me,” she said as she rounded the bench, interrupting Steris’s defence of marginal tax brackets. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just need to steal MeLaan away for a moment.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the woman in question by the forearm and pulled her along behind as she returned to the rear of the compartment.

“Wh- Marasi?” 

“Sorry,” Marasi said, a bit brusquely. _Gosh, being rude is_ effective. _No wonder Lord Waxillium likes it so much._ “Look, we need to talk, okay?”

“About?”

“Don’t prevaricate,” Marasi sighed. “I _obviously_ said something when I was anaesthetised that made you uncomfortable, and now you’re avoiding me.”

“Wh- who told you that?” MeLaan spluttered. “Said something? What? No, I- Nooo.”

Marasi blinked. “...oh my god. Oh my god! _You_ are a _terrible_ liar!”

MeLaan winced, looking away. “...no, I’m not. Maybe _you’re_ a terrible liar.”

Marasi laughed in disbelief. “Oh, Survivor, you _are_. Holy… how does that even _happen?_ ”

“I can lie!” MeLaan protested weakly. “I just… maybe, possibly, don’t have much practice doing it as… myself?”

Marasi forced her amusement down. “As much as I _dearly_ want to interrogate that further, I’m not going to be distracted. Whatever it was I said, or Survivor forbid, _did_ , I’m sorry.”

MeLaan refused to meet her gaze, which felt like confirmation of Marasi’s worst suspicions. “It wasn’t- you didn’t- I wouldn’t say _uncomfortable,_ exactly? Or, I mean, yes, but that gives the wrong impression-”

“MeLaan.”

The kandra woman sighed. “You… _may_ have made some rather- _suggestive_ comments.”

Worst suspicions confirmed, indeed. “Well,” Marasi said slowly, “damn it all to _hell._ ”

MeLaan’s eyes went wide at the profanity. “Marasi, listen-”

Marasi held up a hand, cutting her off. In the past few days, she’d nearly fallen to her death, been tossed about like a hacky-sack, _shot,_ and forced to upturn a great deal of what she knew about herself because of the best kiss she’d ever had. 

And so, she clenched her fists, forced some steel into her spine, and took the plunge. “Look,” she started, “I think by this point it’s pretty clear to both of us that I’ve been… dealing with a lot of unexpected self-evaluation these past few days.”

“Sure,” MeLaan said tentatively. “I’d agree with that.”

Marasi nodded. “ _But_ , I’ve also been greatly enjoying your company- your _friendship._ And I have no interest in risking that because of my own personal issues. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, I promise it won’t happen again, and I hope that we can continue to be friends.”

MeLaan stared at her, wide-eyed. “...okay,” she muttered under her breath, “this is _not_ the conversation I was expecting to be having right now. Marasi,” she continued at a normal volume, voice gentle, “I think there’s been a _serious_ misunder- oh, for _God’s sake!_ ”

“Oh magnificent and plenipotentiary One,” Allik’s voice cut in from the front of the ship, jumpy and nervous, “please forgive your humblest servant for the interruption-”

“Allik,” Marasi said coldly, not bothering to look over her shoulder at him. “Now is _really_ not a good time.”

“Uh, Marasi?”

Allik gulped. “A-and I understand that, oh great one who plucks the stars from the sky, but the thing is that-”

“Hey, Marasi?”

“ _Allik_ ,” she repeated, raising her voice, “we were in the middle of a rather _delicate_ and _private_ conversation, and I have been interrupted _too many times-_ ”

“ _Marasi_!”

“ _What?!_ ” she snapped, spinning on MeLaan.

She pointed out the front of the skimmer, at the rapidly-approaching mountain in front of them and at the rest of the group bracing for impact. “I _think_ he’s trying to tell you that we’re about to crash”

“Oh,” Marasi said. “I see. So we should probably brace, then?”

“That seems like a good idea,” MeLaan agreed.

* * *

The landing was surprisingly sedate, for a ‘crash’. Not at all what Marasi had been expecting, at the very least. True, it had given her a new appreciation for the perspective of dice in a shaker, but given that both they and the _Wilg_ were significantly lightened, it mostly involved a whole lot of bouncing around rather than any outright blunt impacts. The worst injury Marasi received was from one of the bags flying into her back, and even that was just a bruising at worst.

It didn’t hurt that Allik had managed to point them towards a large bank of powdery snow, either - although, it immediately turned out, that brought with it some drawbacks of its own.

“I- _pfah_.” Marasi sat up out of the hole she’d made in the bank, spitting snow out of her mouth. “I think that could have gone better.” She’d been thrown free of the cabin near the end, landing face-first in the snow and creating a Marasi-sized furrow behind her before coming to a stop. 

“Give Allik some credit,” Wax said from a few feet away, standing easily on top of the snow thanks to his Feruchemy. “It could have gone worse, too.” He was holding Steris in a bridal carry, having removed themselves from the ship before it had hit the snow, and she was looking almost indecently excited.

Marasi conceded the point with a grunt, storing enough weight that she could pull herself out. The _Wilg_ was half-buried, the rear-end sticking up on an angle, and 

“Landings, they are pretty difficult,” Allik said, climbing out of the ship and stumbling down onto the snow. “Old Malwish joke, it goes like this; what’s the most difficult part of landing a ship?” He’d donned his mask again, but in the cold light of day, it had lost most of its menace, especially now that Marasi had seen him without it.

“Doing it a second time?” MeLaan suggested, clambering out after him with a few bags slung over her shoulders. 

“No,” Allik said, making a quick two-fingered gesture across his mask that Marasi assumed was meant to be a smile or a laugh. “Paying for the _new_ ship.”

A braying laugh came from the inside of the cabin at that, and moments later, Wayne emerged, carrying the last of the bags. “Ey, Wax!” he said, slapping Allik cheerfully on the back. “We should keep this one!”

Marasi glanced at MeLaan, and found her already looking, her face conflicted. Their interrupted conversation hung over Marasi, but as they all clambered onto the last section of the trail, she knew that the moment had passed.

There was no sign of the Set coming up the trail behind them, so once they’d distributed the bags amongst themselves, they began climbing on foot. They’d gotten quite close - a set of stairs had been carved out of the stone ahead of them, rounding the partial blind of a cliff. Half-obscured, a fortress sat at the top of the stairs, just like the one depicted in ReLuur’s photographs. It was constructed out of large, roughly-hewn stone blocks in a simple construction. 

“Think that’s our temple?” Wax said wryly.

“Honestly,” Marasi replied, “I’m going to be quite concerned if it _isn’t_.”

They trudged up the steps, the ice coating them less of an issue once Wax instructed everyone to start storing a small amount of weight in their medallions. The warming aspect blunted the bitter wind into a mild breeze., and made the snowflakes that fell on their skin and clothes quickly melt away. 

“Ey, Allik,” Wayne said about halfway up, “that your buddies over there?” He pointed out to the side, to a crevice leading down from one side of the temple. At the bottom, half-covered in snow, was a large, metallic shape - it wasn’t quite the same shape and construction as the one in the warehouse, but it was close enough to be easily recognisable.

“...ya,” Allik said sadly, looking away. “The Hunters. Not our friends, though, definitely not. Hunters and Malwish, we don’t get along well. Hunters and... everyone else, really.”

“I know the type,” Wayne agreed sagely. “Stick up the ass, yeah?”

Allik’s head whipped around, and he made a rapid gesture against his mask. “Why are you- up- _what?_ ”

Wayne’s laughter echoed off the rocks around them all the rest of the way up.

There was a small courtyard-esque area at the top of the first set of stairs, centred around a slightly-larger-than-life statue of a man, before another small set of stairs led up to the entrance to the temple proper. In contrast to the blocks of the fortress, the statue was very finely carved - it depicted a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a long coat and holding a spear. The head of the spear was actually metal, gleaming in the snowglare.

“Aluminium,” Wax said, staring at the spearhead. “Odd choice.”

“Well,” MeLaan said, “the Lord Ruler _was_ a pretty dramatic old shit. Why a spear, though? That wasn’t really his thing.”

“Hm,” Marasi said with a frown. “I suppose it could represent the one he stabbed the Survivor with? I agree, though; it’s a bit strange.” She took a few steps to the side, trying to frame the statue from the same angle as ReLuur’s photo. “Definitely in the right place, at least.”

“Like you said,” MeLaan said, “I doubt we ended up at the _other_ mysterious temple in the mountains with a statue of the Lord Ruler at the front.”

“Don’t push our luck,” Wax said grimly. “Come on. If we’re quick, we can grab the Bands and evacuate before the Set arrive.” He started walking past the statue towards the temple entrance, and the others followed behind.

“Oh, y’want to talk about pushin’ our luck, Wax?” Wayne said. “You just rustin’ pantsed Lady Luck in front of her sweetheart, sayin’ stuff like that.”

Marasi glanced around, and realised they were short one member.

“Steris?” she asked, turning around.

“One moment,” her sister replied distractedly. She was standing on the plinth of the statue, holding onto the shaft of the stone spear with one hand and working some kind of small tool back and forth with the other. 

Marasi stopped walking, and watched in confusion as Steris levered something out of the shaft, then began working the spearhead off entirely. 

“...Steris?” Marasi asked. “What are you _doing_?” MeLaan had stopped as well, and was watching the proceedings with a tiny smirk that Marasi found _infuriatingly_ attractive.

With a grunt of effort from Steris, the spearhead came clean off the statue. “Upholding my responsibilities as one of the heads of House Ladrian.” She hopped down from the plinth, a self-satisfied look on her face. 

“... _what?”_

“Our impending nuptials may have helped shore up the foundations,” she explained primly, tucking the spearhead into her bag, “but years of financial mismanagement do long-lasting damage. House Ladrian is still financially fraught enough that we shouldn’t turn up our nose at any sources of supplementary income.”

“That’s a very fancy way to put ‘stealing from the Lord Ruler’,” MeLaan noted, amused. 

“But MeLaan,” Marasi said, “seeing as the Lord Ruler is dead, isn’t it technically _looting_?” She gave her sweetest, most innocent smile, trying desperately not to break.

MeLaan blinked at her, then let out a bright snort. “Hot damn, you really _can_ be funny.”

Marasi grinned, flush with satisfaction and happiness.

“Ladies!” They all turned to find Wax standing at the top of the steps. “Less sightseeing, please?”

Still flush with satisfaction from MeLaan’s praise, Marasi nodded, and picked up the pace.

“You two have become quite close, haven’t you?” Steris observed from behind her. “Friendship is such a wonderful thing.”

“Yes,” MeLaan said faintly. “Wonderful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was skimming my copy of BoM for detail checking and i found this line, which i dont remember ever reading before now:
>
>> “I was lookin’ at you two,” Wayne said, contemplative as he regarded the snowy landscape outside rather than her, “and wondering. Do sisters ever really get sexy with one another for a fellow to watch, or does that only happen in pub songs?”
> 
> and if someone said that in my presence in real life i would tear out their throat and piss on their corpse, so im struggling not to throw aside the wayne plotline and have him just die in as humiliating and painful a fashion as possible.  
> im not going to. but fuck me is it tempting.
> 
> (sorry for the missed update. its just been. a Fucking Time Of It, and i decided to just miss one rather than do a late one, for the sake of my own mental health.)
> 
> notes:
> 
> \- literal idioms are great. the version of 'speak of the devil' that i grew up with was 'your mother-in-law must love you', because apparently that was the literal translation from the dialect of Arabic my dad knew. then again, ive never been able to find any other sources for that so its possible he just made that up to fuck with us. who knows.  
> \- canon telsin is. really fucking bad at subtlety lol.  
> \- yes the chapter count has gone up. again. fingers crossed we can keep it below 20  
> \- the mention of khriss is so im forced to be accountable and upload the bonus chapter about her finally EDIT: the bonus scene is now up in tailings. go accountability  
> \- i didnt have a problem with wayne taking the spearhead in canon, its just not the headspace he's in rn so i had steris do it instead


	15. The Passivity Of Simply Being Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Unrequited love may be painful, but it is safely painful, because it does not involve inflicting damage on anyone but oneself, a private pain that is as bitter-sweet as it is self-induced. But as soon as love is reciprocated, one must be prepared to give up **the passivity of simply being hurt** to take on the responsibility of perpetrating hurt oneself.
> 
> \- Alain de Botton, _Essays in Love_

“And…” Allik made a little noise as he adjusted the calipers he was using, “there.” He stepped back from the wall, tossing the now-empty primer cube up and down in one hand. A moment later, there was a high-pitched whine from the walls around them, and lights began to glow from the walls of the temple at regular intervals, a soft blue glow illuminating the grey stone corridor.

“Thank you, Allik,” Wax said with a nod.

“Happy to help, O Great Metallic Destroyer,” the Southerner said cheerily. 

“So,” Wayne said, ambling forward, “what are we-”

Waxillium grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, just in time to avoid the large blade that swung down out of the wall and across the corridor. 

“That,” Wax said grimly. “We’re waiting because of that.”

“Psh,” Wayne said dismissively, “s’fine. I’ll just set ‘em off an’ heal.” He didn’t move, though, or make any effort to remove the older man’s hand from his shoulder.

“Save your healing in case we can’t make it out before the Set show up,” Wax said, causing Allik to whip his head around and stare at Wayne. “You’ll probably need it.” “Alternatively,” Marasi suggested, “him using it up now might make it more likely that we’re able to make it back out without running into them. It’s going to be slow-going, otherwise.”

“There is that,” Wax acknowledged. “Unless, of course, we had someone _else_ who could heal.”

“No need to be passive-aggressive,” MeLaan said. “You could have just asked.”

“Wait,” Marasi said, “hold on. You’re just going to- what? Set off all the traps so we know where they are?”

“Yep, pretty much!”

“Allik?” Wayne asked. “Y’good?”

The Southerner flinched away from him, and Marasi realised that he must have heard Wax mention Wayne’s Allomancy.

“O-oh Ferrous Harbinger of the End of Days,” Allik stammered, “forgive me for-”

“Aw, lay off,” Wayne grouched. “S’me, Al. Don’t start with that garbage now.”

“Yes, your- Wayne. Your Wayneliness.”

Wayne tilted his head. “...’Your Wayneliness’ ain’t bad, actually. Hey-”

“ _No_ ,” Wax, Marasi and Steris all said in perfect unison.

“Steris,” Wax continued before Wayne could keep talking, “can you wait here with the bags and keep an eye on the trail? When the Set start getting close, let us know.”

Steris nodded primly. “Of course,” she said, setting down her bag and taking a seat on top of it. 

“Wayne,” Wax continued, “stay with her. Keep an eye out.”

The younger man hesitated. “Wax-”

“Wayne, we’re on a time limit here. Please, just cooperate.”

Wayne frowned, but didn’t contest the point.

“Alright,” Wax said. “MeLaan, you go first. We’ll follow behind and bail you out where necessary. Allik-”

“Wait, wait,” Marasi cut in. “Hold on. Are we- are we _sure_ this is the best plan? Seems a bit-”

“Efficient,” MeLaan finished. “It’s efficient, don’t worry. I’ve had worse than anything some old temple can throw at me.”

“Just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you should have to-”

“Marasi,” Wax cut in, “can it wait?”

“N- I mean-” Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure _why_ she was objecting to this plan - she was just following her gut. “MeLaan, can I just speak to you for a moment?”

“Marasi,” Wax said, exasperated, “we’re _on_ -”

“- a time limit, I know, it’ll just be a moment?”

MeLaan frowned, but allowed herself to be led a few steps away. “Marasi-”

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea, MeLaan?” Marasi asked hurriedly. “I mean- you’re still recovering from the warehouse, aren’t you? What if you reinjure something, what if-” Finally, her brain caught up to her gut.

_I can’t handle seeing you get hurt like that again._

“Is that what this is about?” MeLaan asked, a bit amused. “Sentient pile of goo, remember? It doesn’t work like that.”

“But- you still have organs! You still feel pain!”

“Yes, and I have a very nifty skeleton protecting most of said organs, _and_ I can turn off my pain receptors and feel nothing at all!”

“Bullshit,” Marasi said immediately, the word slipping out before she could catch it. “I’ve _seen_ you get hurt. You’re good at hiding it but you _clearly_ feel it.”

MeLaan leaned in slightly. “And why, exactly, have you been watching me closely enough to notice?” she murmured.

Marasi’s heartrate shot up. “Wh-” she stammered, flushing furiously. “You’re my friend! I was- it-” She moved her head back, gathering her wits before she did something stupid like lean in. (For a second, it almost looked like MeLaan was _disappointed_ \- but surely Marasi was imagining that). “It’s just… I- don’t like seeing you get hurt, alright?”

MeLaan’s reaction caught Marasi completely off-guard.

The kandra’s face went still, tension shooting through her frame. “...oh? _You_ don’t like seeing _me_ get hurt?” she said, dangerously cold.

“Yes?” Marasi said. “Like that’s so hard to believe?”

“ _You_ don’t like seeing _me_ get hurt,” MeLaan repeated, angrier now, “and you think I _do?!_ ”

 _What?_ “Oh, please,” Marasi scoffed, instinctively matching the change in tone, “you were _just_ trying to pretend that you can’t feel pain.”

“Not- I didn’t mean _that_ , Marasi, I meant _I_ don’t like seeing _you_ get hurt either!”

“Wh-” It wasn’t even a particular intimate statement, but the sheer emotion behind the words hit Marasi like a train. “That’s not- it’s not the same.”

“Marasi,” MeLaan said, visibly gathering her composure. “Please. We really don’t have much time, I’m not going to sit here and argue. You’re right, it _is_ different, because I’m me and you’re you.”

“So it’s okay for you to not want me to get hurt, but the reverse is unthinkable? And since when is this conversation about me, anyway, seeing as I’m not the one-”

“It’s _okay_ because I am a _Faceless Immortal,_ Mara!” MeLaan cut in, almost frantic. “I’m unkillable! You, on the other hand, are a face-having _mortal,_ and are _extremely rusting killable!_ And you _still_ got yourself shot, _nearly died,_ then got back up and damn near did it again! Do you even _understand_ how _fragile_ you are?! It’s bad enough knowing you’re _inevitably_ going to die, you don’t need make me deal with-”

MeLaan froze, her face the spitting image of someone whose mouth had run ahead of their self-control.

“...MeLaan?” Marasi breathed.

MeLaan blinked, then her face shuttered into careful neutrality. “We don’t have time for this,” she said, taking a step back. “If it makes you so uncomfortable, then don’t watch.”

She walked back to Wax, who was giving them both odd looks, and didn’t so much as glance back.

Marasi put one hand to her chest, heart still racing. _What just happened?_ She had no idea whether they’d just had an argument, a moment, or-

_It’s bad enough knowing you’re inevitably going to die, you don’t need make me deal with-_

No. 

She was imagining things. Projecting her own feelings. 

Wasn’t she?

She wasn’t _stupid_ , though. And the things that MeLaan had said, the way she’d cut herself off-

...maybe it was a good idea for her to stay behind after all.

Steris greeted her as Marasi joined her and Wayne by the door, and she said something vaguely appropriate in response as she stared out into the darkness, head still spinning.

MeLaan didn’t even like women, did she? She had that- she’d said- about _Wayne_ , of all people, she wasn’t-

But she was worried about Marasi. And in that moment, when their faces had been close, she would’ve sworn that it hadn’t felt one-sided in the slightest-

 _Enough!_ She had been lost in her own thoughts for too long, and she forced herself to focus on the sight outside the temple doors. The light was growing dim outside, and she could see the lights of the Set’s party glowing from just beyond the turn in the path. The shadows on the snow looked strange, thick and deep and monochrome, and in places they almost seemed to be shifting like trees in the wind-

Marasi snapped back into the present moment, looking around again. She ignored the lights this time, scanning a nearer darkness full of shifting snow. And there, almost to the windswept patch of rock before the temple, she caught movement. Shadows in the shadows.

“Marasi-” Wayne said.

“I see it,” she replied grimly, getting to her feet. _Thank the Survivor, something else to think about._ “Let’s-”

“Wait,” Wayne said, grabbing her arm. He pointed, and she followed the line down to the small-but-recognisable silhouette of Edwarn Ladrian approaching-

...and waving a little white flag.

* * *

“Waxillium!” Edwarn said cheerily. “So lovely to see you. Might we venture inside to speak, get out of this damnable chill?” He stood alone at the bottom of the final set of steps up to the temple, Marasi at the top with her rifle trained on him. Behind him, the rest of the Set’s people were beginning to set up in the courtyard, letting down packs and setting up tents.

The amount of things Marasi didn’t trust about this situation could have filled a library. “Wax?” she called over her shoulder. “Reasons to not just shoot him dead where he stands?”

Edwarn continued smiling, which just felt like confirmation that he had something up her sleeve. She wouldn’t _actually_ do it, but the fact that he didn’t even seem concerned… didn’t bode well.

She heard Waxillium sigh. “No, Marasi.”

“I’unno,” Wayne said casually. “Seems pretty good to me. Maybe just wing him in the knee or sumthin?”

Marasi smiled, and adjusted her aim accordingly. “For once, you’re speaking my language, Wayne.”

“Well,” Edwarn said, “your subordinates _are_ a rowdy bunch, aren’t they? Miss… Harms, was it?” She didn’t see any point in correcting him. “And the inimitable Wayne, of course.”

“I’ll inim your itable,” Wayne muttered.

“So?” Edwarn asked. “Don’t you want me to come inside, where you have me outnumbered, out of the reach of any gunmen?”

Marasi could practically _hear_ Wax’s teeth grinding. “Fine,” he spat. “Try anything-”

“-and you’ll shoot me dead where I stand, yes yes” Edwarn said dismissively, already starting up the stairs. “Really, Waxillium, do you come up with this dreck yourself, or does someone write it for you?”

Marasi kept herself at the same distance from him, backing up through the doors and keeping him in her sights.

Edwarn sighed happily as he stepped inside, shucking the outer layer of his coat. “Much better.” He took a pipe out of his pocket, loading some herbs into the end. “Could I borrow that lantern?” he asked Steris, who was sitting on a ledge nearby.

Steris looked at him, then wordlessly opened up the lantern’s case and blew out the flame.

Edwarn tutted, and stuck the unlit pipe in his mouth. “You are all so _childish_.”

“Rich words, coming from you.” Telsin was at the opposite end of the foyer space, staring daggers at her uncle. One hand rested on the gun belted to her waist, and it twitched every few seconds. “You _live_ for petty childishness.”

“Ah, Niece! I didn’t see you, hiding away back there.” Edwarn raised his pipe in a mocking salute. “I must congratulate you on all this. You seized your opportunity quite heartily.”

“Asinthew,” Telsin said icily. “Please tell me we are not _actually_ going to allow him to just _saunter_ in here like this.”

“Yes, _Asinthew_ ,” Edwarn mocked. “Please, give us a demonstration of your trademark thuggery.”

“Buddy,” MeLaan said casually, “you have the _worst_ sense of self-preservation I have _ever_ seen.” She had been waiting inside the doorway, out of sight and leaning casually against the wall. Marasi avoided looking at her as much as possible - her skin was physically unmarred, but her clothing was practically tattered rags, and there was a worrying sallowness to her skin. 

Edwarn glanced at her briefly, then scoffed, as if he didn’t even consider her worth replying to.

“Why are you here, Uncle?” Waxillium asked flatly.

“Why did I come? For the same reason as you, Nephew. To find a weapon.”

“I meant,” Wax said, “why did you come in here. You’re giving yourself up?”

“Giving myself— Nephew, I came to _negotiate_.”

“Negotiate _what?_ ” Wax said. “We have you at gunpoint. You’re under arrest for treason, murder, and kidnapping. Allik will stand witness against you.”

“The savage?” Edwarn said, amused. “I am not in your custody, Nephew. Stop entertaining this fantastical delusion that you can achieve anything by harassing me. Even if you were to somehow drag me back to Elendel and throw me in a cage, I’d be released in days.”

“Again,” Telsin said. “He’s only making a stronger argument for killing him where he stands.”

“We’re better than that, Telsin,” Wax said, though judging by his expression and the tightness of his jaw, he half-wished otherwise.

“‘We’? I’m not a constable, Ase. I’ll _happily_ take the burden off your hands.”

“Oh,” Edwarn chuckled. “Now isn’t _this_ interesting.”

“Shut up!” the entire group chorused as one.

Wax rested one hand on his pistol. “What do you _want_ , Uncle? No more games, no more talking in circles. What do you want from us?”

“To accompany you,” Edwarn said. He nodded toward the hallway beyond. “Our interrogation of the savages - now that we’ve been able to force them to speak properly - indicates that there is a hallway full of traps beyond here. And…” Edwarn hesitated. “Ahh, so you’ve been through the traps, have you? Then you know about the door?”

_The door?_

“How do you know this?” Allik said, stepping forward, fists clenched. Wayne put a warning hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “What have you done to my crewmates?”

“You’ve made yours talk too, I see,” Edwarn said. “A pity the Lord Ruler gave his fantastic knowledge to them, don’t you think? Barely men. They must hide their-”

“How do you know?” Allik continued, speaking more loudly. “About the hallway? About the door?”

“Your captain knew many things you did not, I believe,” Edwarn said. “Did she tell you about the group of Hunters she carried as subcaptain in her youth? How she got them drinking, and listened to their secrets? They were planning to return here, she said, for the prize.”

“Jordis?” Allik asked, voice strained. “She lives?”

Suit smiled, puffing on his pipe, then turned to Wax. “I can get you through the door. I have the key, passed from the lips of a dying priest, to a doomed Hunter, to an airship captain, and now at last to me.” He spread his hands.

“Okay,” MeLaan said, “this is _obviously_ a trick, right? It’s not just me?”

“Of course it is,” Edwarn said. “The question is, what other options do you have? Without an accommodation, we are at an impasse. My men outside can’t get in here. It’s too fortified a position, and we can’t risk explosives lest we damage the prize. You, however, can’t get out. You can’t get the Bands without my help, but you can’t pass my army of Allomancers either. You’ll starve in here.”

“Not me!” MeLaan said cheerily. “You’re pretty plump, you’ll last me a while.”

Edwarn swallowed, looking uncomfortable for the first time in the conversation before he regained his composure.

“Ase,” Telsin said warningly. “This is a bad idea.”

Wax sighed. “I know, Else. But all the other ones are worse.”

“I’m glad to see-”

“Shut it,” Wax snapped, cutting Edwarn off. “You say the bare minimum and no more, or I let MeLaan eat one of your hands.”

“Let?” the kandra in question muttered.

“Steris,” Wax said, unbuckling one of his shotguns. “If any of the Set start moving up, yell right away.” He handed the shotgun over to Steris, who took it cautiously. “Just in case.”

“Of course,” Steris said, remarkably equanimous about the situation.

“Allik, stay with her again. Wayne, with us.”

“Damn straight,” Wayne muttered.

“Telsin-”

“-is coming with you,” the woman in question said, striding forward to join them. “I want to be there when he tries something and gets shot for his trouble.”

“Niece,” Edwarn gasped, mock-scandalised. “I’m _hurt_.”

“If only.”

With a bit of prodding, they sent Edwarn down the corridor first, Marasi keeping him at gunpoint the whole time. There were only two traps remaining before the doors, and although Telsin and MeLaan were all for pushing him in, Wax simply disabled them himself, Pushing on a blade as it swung out of the wall to tear it off its hinges and deftly stepping out of the way of the spikes that shot out of the floor.

Wax and his uncle stepped up to the large door at the end of the corridor, Edwarn offering up the promised instructions. While they were distracted, Marasi stepped over to Telsin, who was staring at her uncle’s back as if she intended to burn a hole in it with her mind.

“Telsin?” Marasi asked quietly. “Are you going to be okay?”

Telsin scoffed. “I’m not going to snap and shoot him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It wasn’t, actually. Are you going to be okay? This must be hard for you.”

She sighed, glancing over with a strange look in her eyes. “...you have a good heart, Marasi Colms. It would be nice if the world lived up to it.”

Before Marasi could even _begin_ to unpack that, the door swung open with a _metallic_ clunk. Edwarn sauntered forward through them, Wax gritting his teeth and following closely behind. Personally, Marasi was of the opinion that if Edwarn wanted to trip any remaining traps himself, he was more than welcome to it, but Wax’s uncle had a way of getting under his skin no matter what he did. 

No further traps triggered, and so the rest of them followed the two Ladrian men into the room, fanning out once they’d passed through the doorway. A dias sat in the centre of the room, raised up from the floor with steps set into every side. A soft white light shone down from the roof, picking it out from the faint blue ambiance that permeated the rest of the temple. A pedestal sat on top with faded red cloth draped over it, and a simple metal-framed case rested on the cloth. Inside was a golden mount, designed to support and display two cylindrical objects.

Or so Marasi gathered from their shape, as any actual relics were entirely absent.

Shattered glass was littered around the pedestal, glinting in the light from above. The entire construction was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Marasi hadn’t been stupid enough to hold a gun on Edwarn without priming it first, but she racked the second chamber to get his attention. “What did you do?”

The older Ladrian ignored her entirely, chewing on his pipe. “Well,” he said sourly. “This is unfortunate.”

“For the record,” Wayne said, “‘wasn’t me. ‘ncase anyway was getting all profile-y.”

Waxillium stuck out a hand, stopping them from moving any further. “Look at the dust,” he said. “Undisturbed. Whoever took them, it wasn’t recent. MeLaan?”

“Pit trap there,” MeLaan said, walking up beside him and pointing as necessary. “Swinging blades there and there, another pit trap there, spikes there. Looks you’re _supposed_ to spiral around the dias, but-” 

Without any warning, she slipped past Wax, dancing across the floor with the casual ease of a gazelle. Marasi watched, captivated, as she stopped at a point a few yards in front of them and to the left, and deliberately tapped a section of the floor with one foot.

Machinery grinded above them as the rest of the group let out cries of alarm, but MeLaan seemed utterly unconcerned. An aperture opened up in the ceiling above her, but like the one back in the corridor, all that emerged was a rain of ice, which MeLaan effortlessly sidestepped and let shatter on the stones. 

“-we can take a shortcut,” she finished, smug as the cat that got the canary. It was absolutely _infuriating_ , and Marasi-

Marasi _really_ wanted to kiss her. 

Prompted by a gesture with her rifle, Edwarn went first, following the path MeLaan had set out as she took the last few steps over to the edge of the dias. Marasi followed behind, leaving enough distance that he couldn’t grab Valediction or knock it out of the way with his cane. Wax Pushed himself directly to the top, and the rest of them caught up a few seconds later, ascending the steps onto the small platform on top of the dias.

Marasi kept Edwarn in the corner of her vision as she glanced around. Something about the scene was niggling at her, but she couldn’t quite figure out what. From the look on Lord Waxillium’s face, he felt it too.

Wax approached the pedestal cautiously, stepping around the larger pieces of glass. “Nothing,” he confirmed, as if they weren’t already fully aware.

“This... is a disappointment,” Edwarn said. He seemed genuinely troubled. “A disappointment indeed. I must say, Nephew, if this is a scheme you’ve concocted, you have my respect for once. I suppose you have another one of the savages already making off with the Bands, then?”

“Not everyone is a scheming little rat like you, _Uncle_ ,” Wax spat.

“Sadly true.” Edwarn sighed. “I guess that is that. Time for this to end, then.”

The _click_ of Vindication’s hammer being drawn back as Wax aimed at his uncle was not a surprise at all to Marasi. 

What _was_ a surprise were the two _additional_ noises that accompanied it, bouncing off the cavernous walls of the temple.

“What-” Marasi started to say, twisting her head so she could look behind her without losing her bead on Edwarn, and the words died in her throat.

One of the sounds had been Wayne. Possessing a cold and steely calm that Marasi had _never_ seen from him, he was pointing a gun at Telsin, his usual impotence with firearms completely evident.

The other sound had been Telsin, aiming her own gun at Waxillium.

“Well,” Telsin said slowly. “This is unfortunate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Telsin Time
> 
> ive talked before about wax's Protagonist Syndrome where he is always the one to figure things out or do things (and there's an example of that in the original of this chapter where he's the one to identify the traps in the main room despite MeLaan being the one who's been setting them off), but i dont think his figuring out Telsin actually counts as that in the original - after all, as has been established, canon Telsin does a Very Bad Job of being a traitor.  
> here, though, where she's a lot less openly suspicious, i felt it made more sense for Marasi especially to be completely blind to it, and Wax as well. Wax's been distracted with having his sister back and dealing with her and Steris + his own brooding, Marasi's gay as hell and Telsin has saved her life twice (one of which she was also responsible for but marasi doesnt know that), but Wayne having seen all of her behaviour and tbh being in a not great headspace means he's been much more suspicious of her, and just happened to be right. 
> 
> note:  
> \- god edwarn is such a slime man  
> \- want to invent the swirlie on scadrial and then give him one  
> \- I wanted to move the gun moment with Wayne here, not because i had any particular problem with the original, but because i think it works better here in this version of things  
> \- esp. bc im sticking to Marasi's POV here so the original just wouldnt appear and that felt like a waste.  
> \- in canon kandra actually can turn off their pain receptors but i. just think its more interesting if they cant lol. i have more thoughts on this to work in eventually, but i sort of have it as the lord ruler setting certain safeguards in place to do with what kandra can and cant do - things like messing with brain chemistry and stuff, to keep them from getting _too_ far from human


	16. Confession, In Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Nothing in this world is hidden forever. The gold which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passed over it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has been drowned. Fire itself leaves the **confession, in ashes** , of the substance consumed in it. Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the thoughts, through the doorway of the eyes; and Love finds the Judas who betrays it by a kiss. Look where we will, the inevitable law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting preservation of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.
> 
> \- Wilkie Collins, _No Name_

Edwarn laughed, smug and scornful.

“You know, Niece,” he chortled, “I retract any criticism. _This_ makes it all worth it.”

Marasi barely heard him, her ears ringing as she stared at Telsin. At the line of her gun, then back up at her face, then back down again, as if by looking away and back again enough times, the sight would resolve itself into something that _made sense._

Telsin ignored him, her gun still resolutely refusing to be pointing at anyone else. “Well played, Wayne,” she said over her shoulder, a small, rueful smile on her face. “What gave me away, the bag or the guards?”

Wayne gave no answer, just staring her down with an icy chill in his eyes. At any other time, it would have been the most incomprehensible thing Marasi had ever seen - Wayne, deadly serious, holding a _gun_. 

As things were, it barely even registered with Marasi. Her head was spinning, calling back every memory from the last two days, trying to make them fit and horrified to find that they did. 

The warehouse - that had been her _office._

The guards she’d killed - hiding her identity. 

The bag falling from the skimmer - to alert the Set below to their presence.

Saving Marasi’s life, _twice_ -

“Why?” she asked without thinking. She hated how plaintive, how frail her voice sounded.

Telsin sighed. “...that is a long and complicated answer, Marasi, and maybe best saved for a time when we aren’t all at gunpoint.” Her tone was gentle, faintly amused, and it only made the dissonance worse to hear her talking like nothing had changed, like she hadn’t been lying to them _the entire time_ -

“Telsin.” Up until that moment, Lord Waxillium hadn’t said a single word, moved a single inch. From where he was positioned, he couldn’t even _see_ his sister, and to turn his head he would have to take his eyes off Edwarn. There was no doubt that he was aware of what was going on anyway, not with his white-knuckled grip on Vindication, trembling with barely contained fury. “...the whole time?”

Telsin nodded, then realised Wax couldn’t hear her. “Yes. I’m sorry, Wax. All of you. This isn’t how I wanted things to go, but I think we can still reach an acceptable compromise.”

“‘Acceptable compromise’?” Wax demanded furiously. “You’re Set! This whole time, you’ve been-”

“-lying to you, deceiving you, yes, yes,” Telsin said wearily. “And should we all kill each other to solve it? What’s done is done, Ase. We can still move forward like the civilised adults we are.”

Wax laughed, scornful. “So Uncle hasn’t managed to _completely_ indoctrinate you yet?”

Telsin _snorted._ “Indoctrinate? Ase, don’t be ridiculous. I recruited _him_.” A flicker of something dark and ugly flashed across her face at that statement, so quick that Marasi almost missed it entirely. “I mean it. The Bands aren’t here, so I see no reason we can’t go our separate ways in peace. _Dealing the wasing unhappiness of the boths_ , and all that.”

“Niece-” Edwarn started, in a distinctly wheedle-esque tone.

“That’s Sequence to you, _Suit_.” Telsin’s voice was a whipcrack, absent of any emotion or sympathy. 

“Of course, of course,” Edwarn said insincerely. “Lady Sequence, are you-”

“Shut up, Suit.” Clearly, very little of her disdain for her uncle had been part of the act. “Wax, Marasi, if we all lower our guns, I promise you you’ll be able to walk out of here unscathed. You can take the skimmer back to Elendel, even.”

“And Allik’s crew?” Wax asked coldly.

Again, an emotion broke through Telsin’s collected mask, just for a moment; something almost akin to regret. “That, I’m afraid, is beyond my purview.”

“Then what good are you?” Wax snapped, a hound at the very end of his leash.

She sighed again. “Wax-”

“No,” he interrupted furiously. “I want an answer, right now. You’re acting all reasonable, but you haven’t given us one good reason why we shouldn’t _gun you down where you stand_.”

Wayne made a little angry noise at the back of his throat in agreement, the first sound he’d made this entire time.

“Oh, _please_ , Waxillium,” Edwarn scoffed. “You can’t possibly think the three of you have the advantage in this situation.”

“Uh, hello?” MeLaan waggled her free hand, the other pointing at Edwarn in a child’s imitation of a pistol - ring and pinky fingers tucked in, index and middle fingers pointing forward together, thumb sticking up like a hammer. “Four, thank you very much.”

“Really, kandra?” Edwarn laughed. “You don’t even have a weapon.”

“Do you know what an emetic is, Ladrian?” MeLaan said sweetly. “Cause you’re about to find out.”

Edwarn blanched.

“This posturing isn’t helping,” Telsin cut in tiredly. “Marasi? Please tell me you have some common sense remaining?”

Bizarrely enough, that was exactly what Marasi needed to come back to herself. She took a halting, shuddering breath, focusing on the sensation to steady herself and by the time she let it out, it was in a slow, calm stream.

"I do," she said, and got an ugly thrill from crushing the relief that began to dawn on Telsin's face immediately after. "By the power invested in me as an officer of the Elendel Constabulary, I am pronouncing you both under arrest. Lay down your weapons, come peacefully, and you will not be harmed."

Edwarn guffawed, but Telsin just sighed. "It's going to be like that, then."

"Yes," Marasi agreed coldly. "It is."

"...so be it."

Four shots rang out at the exact same time.

Three of them were sent spinning away as two opposing Pushes clashed, knocking them off-course to ping off the stone of the chamber walls - one from Waxillium, and the second unable to have come from anyone but _Edwarn,_ despite the fact that the elderly Ladrian was most definitely _not_ an Allomancer, let alone a Coinshot. He did still lack Wax’s grounding feruchemy, though, and was forced back, skidding along the stone as a tiny projectile shot through the space where he’d been standing only moments before.

The fourth shot, fired from Telsin’s aluminium revolver, flew true through the Allomancy and hit Wax square in the gut.

There was a horrible moment of stillness, shots still ringing and echoing, acrid smoke barely beginning to curl upwards. 

Then, Waxillium crumpled, tumbling backwards down the side of the dais .

The noise that ripped free of Wayne couldn’t be rightfully described as a scream. A scream was a human thing, something of voiceboxes and lungs. The sound that tore out of his throat was far more primal than that, the sound of a soul being crushed into pieces, an animalistic howl of pain and loss.

(In the back of Marasi’s mind, a connection snapped into place - far too late for it to matter).

Wayne threw himself at Telsin, gun clattering to the ground, and she had to scramble back to avoid the wild swipes of his duelling canes.

Marasi couldn’t spare any more attention for them, however, as Edwarn dipped a hand inside his coat and flung out a handful of coins, Pushing them in her direction. She dropped awkwardly to the floor as they whistled past above her, a sharp line of pain across her scalp evidence of how close she’d come to death.

“Suit!” she heard Telsin snap. “ _Don’t_ kill them!”

Edwarn sighed dramatically as Marasi scrambled back up to her knees. “My humblest apologies.” 

Marasi had just enough time to chamber a round before the next spray of coins came flying towards her. These ones were aimed at her legs, and so she had to dive awkwardly to the left, tucking her legs up underneath her. She landed on her side, perilously close to the edge of the dais , but she’d managed to keep Valediction out from underneath her, and she pointed it vaguely in Edwarn’s direction and fired.

The recoil slammed the rifle’s stock into her shoulder like a physical blow, flipping her onto her back. She twisted her neck to the side to see Edwarn flying backwards off the dais , naked shock on his face. 

Marasi had fired a Pewterarm round, a chunky bullet packed with enough powder to tear through their enhanced physique and strain their healing, which meant that it had significantly more force behind it than a regular rifle round. Marasi had seen Edwarn struggle with managing the balance of weight and force with Steelpushes just moments before, and so when he’d braced against an ordinary rifle round, the unexpected force as he stopped the bullet had tossed him backwards.

He stopped himself in midair a moment later, of course, but Marasi used the time she’d gained to scramble to her feet, and glance over at the others, just in time to see Telsin snap one of Wayne’s duelling canes over his crossed arms. MeLaan swept her legs out from underneath her a moment later, but Telsin’s fall was much slower than it should have been. While still in the air, she landed an awkward kick on MeLaan’s torso that still managed to send her shooting off to one side, and Marasi realised with horror that she still had the weight medallion. 

Telsin hit the ground and rolled back onto her feet in a low crouch, and then Marasi blew out her right kneecap from behind. 

She collapsed to the stone, and Wayne took the opportunity to kick her in the head like a streetball. It connected, whipping her head back in a gruesome manner, but judging by the way Wayne winced and avoided putting weight on that foot as he stepped back, she’d increased her weight before it had connected. Marasi cleared the chamber and aimed at her other knee, but a Push threw off her aim as she fired and the shot pinged off the stone of the dais . 

“Sloppy, my dear,” Edwarn said from the other side of the dais, tossing an empty vial to the side. Marasi skidded backwards along the ground, refusing to let Valediction be torn from her grip as he continued to Push against it. A flickered, barely-there cadmium bubble cut out the majority of the Push’s force for a half-second, and Edwarn stumbled forward, obviously unused to dealing with sudden changes in resistance. And then Wayne was upon him, snarling like a wild animal as the speed bubble flickered into place around them-

-only to disappear almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Wayne staggering back with a shocked look on his face. 

“The power of hemalurgy!” Edwarn cried, giddy and smug. “Not only did I make myself a Coinshot, but a Leecher too! No longer are the Metallic Arts restricted to the whims of heritage, but instead-”

MeLaan decked him, full-force across the chin. 

Marasi only had a second to enjoy it, though, before she was tackled to the ground by Telsin, who proceeded to slug her in the gut. 

“Stay down!” she hissed, while Marasi doubled over and tried not to puke. “Please!”

“Or- what-” Marasi managed to gasp out. 

Telsin didn’t get the chance to reply, as an arm snaked around her neck and yanked her backwards. “Don’t you _rusting_ touch her,” MeLaan snarled. She sent them both toppling over to the ground, and twisted on the way down so that she could slam Telsin’s face into the stone with a sickening _thud._

Marasi winced, but Telsin was still moving, grabbing MeLaan by the ankle. The kandra woman snorted, and stomped on Telsin’s forearm until she was forced to loosen her grip, then followed it up with a vicious kick that sent her tumbling across the ground towards where Edwarn and Wayne still clashed, cane-to-cane.

And _still,_ after all that, Telsin managed to get back up, shooting up from one knee to catch Wayne’s one remaining duelling cane and snap it in half. Edwarn immediately took advantage, stepping around her and shoving his own cane against Wayne’s chest before sending him flying off the dais with a powerful Push. 

A horrible premonition overtook Marasi, and she averted her gaze just before Wayne hit the floor and a horrible _crunch_ filled the room, Wayne biting down on a scream. When she dared to look for just a second, she saw that he’d activated one of the traps, and half his body was pinned under a huge stone block the size of a house.

“Really?” she heard Telsin say. “Even for Rashek, that just seems like overkill.”

The fact that she was being so glib made Marasi feel like she was about to split in half with rage. She _snarled,_ whipping up Valediction to aim it at them, but a Push from Edwarn sent her staggering back. 

“Marasi,” Telsin said, stepping towards them. “This doesn’t-”

Marasi felt a hand on her shoulder, and MeLaan pulled her back as she stepped forward in turn. Her left hand was distorted and swollen, pointing at Edwarn and Telsin, and she braced as it _exploded_. A spray of liquid arced out, and Marasi felt the force against Valediction as Edwarn Pushed himself backward out of the way. Telsin didn’t even miss a step, taking the spray full in the face and barrelling straight through it. An awful, spitting _hiss_ erupted where the liquid had hit her skin, and Marasi gagged at the smell of burning flesh. Telsin kept approaching, though, and Marasi finally thought to look down at the knee she’d shot out, only to see pink, unmarred flesh through the hole in her trouser.

“Bloodmaker!” she cried out in realisation, just too late for it to matter. “She’s a-”

MeLaan took a step back, but Telsin lunged after her with a sudden burst of speed, and stabbed a metallic cylinder into her chest. MeLaan immediately backhanded her with enough force to send her flying and yanked the cylinder free, but it was too late - it was a syringe, with the plunger already depressed. 

The sight of a kandra ‘drooping’ was no less horrifying than the last time Marasi had seen it. Worse, even, because this wasn’t just a kandra, this was _MeLaan_ turning towards her as the flesh started to sag from her skull. MeLaan, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes filled with the bleakest, most naked terror Marasi had ever seen. MeLaan, losing her form entirely and collapsing down into an immobile, semi-translucent mass, silvery bones floating within.

Marasi tried not to scream.

“I tried to do this peacefully,” Telsin said, voice full of regret. Her face was already mostly regrown, flesh pink and glossy. “Marasi, will you _please_ lower your gun? You’re outnumbered now.”

“Not that it made a difference, of course,” Edwarn added smugly.

“Suit,” Telsin snapped, “go and-” She stopped, eyes fixed on a point off to the side.

Marasi followed her gaze down the side of the dias. Where Waxillium had fallen, there was just a bloodstain on the stone, and the gaping maw of an activated pit trap, deep enough to escape the soft temple lighting entirely.

“...typical,” Telsin grumbled, sounding like someone had just delivered her the wrong meal at a restaurant.

“That’s _it_?!” Marasi half-screamed. “That’s all you have to say?! You just _killed_ your _brother_ in _cold blood!_ ”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Telsin said, voice tired. “It’ll take more than a bullet and a fall to kill my brother. He’s far too stubborn to die to just that.”

Marasi _did_ scream at that, pouring all her rage and betrayal and fear into the sound as she pulled the trigger over and over. The bullets all curved harmlessly away, but she furiously began reloading, ignoring the tears blurring the corner of her vision.

“Marasi!” Telsin snapped. “I _don’t_ want to hurt you.”

“Too _bad_ ,” Marasi spat, raising her rifle again. 

Telsin growled in frustration, and dropped to one knee before she could fire, placing one hand on MeLaan’s immobile form.

Marasi froze.

“Did you know,” Telsin said, exhausted but conversational, “that Leeching burns away _all_ metal in the body, not just Allomantic metals?” Her face hardened. “Lower. Your. _Gun._ Or you’ll get to see it first-hand.”

Valediction slipped from her hands, falling to hang limply from its strap. “You’re- _evil_ ,” she whispered.

Telsin stood back up. “This is neither the place nor time for that discussion.” She turned to Suit. “You fetch Waxillium,” she said, flicking a hand in the direction of the pit trap. “I’ll take the rest out, find somewhere to keep them.”

Edwarn nodded.

“Oh, and Suit?” Telsin said, too casual to be sincere. “If you try and pretend you had to kill him in self-defense, I’ll personally rip out your spikes and throw you off the side of this mountain, understood?”

Edwarn sneered. “Of course, Lady Sequence.”

He descended down off the dais and, with one last scornful glance over his shoulder, stepped out over the pit where Waxillium had fallen and disappeared from sight.

As soon as he did, Telsin’s expression shifted, going from icy calm to worn-out irritation. “For Harmony’s sake,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Numb, Marasi walked over to MeLaan, dropping to her knees at her side. Telsin made no move to stop her, just standing there wearily for a good half a minute.

“Right,” Telsin finally said, straightening up. All signs of her prior exhaustion disappeared, wiped away to be replaced with calm authority. “Marasi, can you carry MeLaan? If not, I can send a stretcher back for her when we get outside.”

“Don’t pretend you actually _care_ ,” Marasi said. Her voice came out far weaker than she’d intended, sounding frail instead of venomous.

Telsin raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I make threats and order you around like some kind of thug?”

 _Yes._ “...I can carry her.”

“Excellent.” Telsin turned to where Wayne was still pinned in place, struggling to free himself. “I’ll send some help for you when we get outside, Wayne! Try and conserve your healing until then!”

A vicious snarl was the only response she received, as he redoubled his fruitless efforts to free himself.

“Well,” Telsin shrugged, “worth a shot.”

* * *

Marasi spotted Steris before the reverse, just before they stepped down into the courtyard.

Her sister was sitting on a small folding stool under a dark blue pavilion tent, her heavy notebook closed in her lap. The snow had been cleared away, and similarly-portable furniture had been set up underneath the cover, along with a simple woven mat. There was no sign of the shotgun Wax had entrusted her with, but judging by the fresh bloodstains they’d passed at the entrance of the temple, she hadn’t gone entirely without a fight.

When Steris did finally see them approaching, she shot to her feet, causing the guards posted around her to whip around, raising their weapons. Her face was fearful but relieved, but froze into an icy mask as her eyes settled on Telsin.

“You,” was all she said, voice like a whipcrack.

“Me,” Telsin replied neutrally. “Sit down, please.”

Steris clenched her fists at her sides, and remained standing.

“Sit _down_ ,” Telsin repeated. “God Beyond, I am _trying_ to be reasonable. Can you please just work with me?”

Marasi spat at her feet.

Telsin glanced down at it, then back up at her. “Charming,” she said drily. “Marasi, you can set MeLaan down on the mat, that should keep her off the stone.”

Marasi’s arms were too sore to argue the point, and she trudged over and laid her friend’s form down upon the mat as gently as she could. Carrying her had been exhausting - aluminium was not a particularly heavy metal, but it still weighed more than bone, and Marasi was not the strongest person to begin with.

But the alternative had been letting Telsin touch her, so she’d gritted her teeth and endured the burning in her arms and back.

With MeLaan set down, she collapsed to the ground beside her, trying to catch her breath. Wordlessly, Steris moved beside her, resting one hand on her back.

“Stay here for now,” Telsin said, as if they had any choice in the matter. “We’ll have time to talk later.” She turned to one of the guards. “Find me- ah, never mind.” 

Marasi glanced up, then did a double-take. A woman was standing next to Telsin where there had been nothing but empty space moments ago, dressed all in black with her arms folded behind her back, wearing a broad-brimmed hat dusted with snow.

“Sect,” Telsin greeted her warmly. “Watch them, please. If my uncle tries to speak to them without me around, send for me right away. Re-administer the serum to the kandra in ten minutes, then every two hours after that, regardless of appearance.”

The woman, 'Sect', nodded wordlessly.

“Excellent,” Telsin said, clapping her on the shoulder. She turned back towards Marasi, opening her mouth like she was going to speak. After a second, though, she closed it again, and walked away without a word.

Sect walked over to one of the guards and tapped him on the shoulder, pointing off in the distance. He saluted and hurried off, and Sect took up his post next to one of the poles supporting the pavilion. She leant back against it casually, hat dipping over her eyes, but Marasi wasn’t fooled - she’d clearly positioned herself so that she could see them in the corner of her vision.

“Marasi?” Steris asked quietly. Her sister’s voice quavered with fear, the steel from before having left along with Telsin. “Is- Lord Waxillium? Wayne?” 

“Both alive,” Marasi replied tiredly. “For now.” 

Steris sagged, relieved.

In short, staggered sentences while she recovered, Marasi explained what had happened. 

“All this, for nothing…” Steris murmured. “All this violence and killing, over an artifact that wasn’t even here anymore.”

Marasi laughed bitterly. What could she possibly say?

Steris sighed, leaning against Marasi’s side. “...I really was looking forward to getting married, you know.”

Marasi wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her tight, offering the only comfort she felt she had in her.

For a few minutes, they sat like that, watching the buzz of the Set around the courtyard like ants in a hive. Eventually, though, the physical contact got too much for Steris, and she retreated back to her stool and her notebook, leaving Marasi and MeLaan there on the ground.

Unconsciously, Marasi leant into the kandra’s limp form. She didn’t feel nearly as unpleasant as Marasi had been expecting - almost like warm leather, with a slight rough texture not unlike human skin.

“Well,” she said quietly, staring out of the pavilion. “I don’t think VenDell’s going to be very happy with my performance.” 

Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she felt MeLaan vibrate against her side for a moment.

“I just-” she continued weakly, “I _trusted_ her, MeLaan! Like an _idiot,_ and now we’re all going to die because of it. I just-” The words caught in her throat.

That time, she definitely wasn’t imagining the buzzing.

“That was probably something about how I shouldn’t blame myself, huh. Or some rude comment about Telsin.” She sniffed. “I- like that about you, you know. Your- pugnaciousness. That you’re good at making me laugh. I like making _you_ laugh. You have a nice laugh.” Marasi chuckled weakly. “Funny, isn’t it? All it takes for me to- finally say how I feel, is us all being in mortal danger.”

MeLaan was completely silent and still now. Marasi didn’t know what that meant, but she powered on. “Maybe… maybe I was reading things wrong. And if I was- well, I _really_ hope I wasn’t. Because if I wasn’t reading things wrong, and we die before I even get to kiss you properly-” She let out a wet, choking laugh. “...that’d be unfair, I guess.”

After a few moments, MeLaan vibrated gently.

Marasi leant against her with a sigh. “Yeah. Sometimes things are unfair.”

After a few minutes, Sect walked over from her pole, and stuck another syringe in MeLaan’s side, her face dispassionate. Marasi considered trying to jump her, grab her gun, but she was just so _tired._ Physically, emotionally, spiritually - she had nothing left in her. Telsin had Leeched the last of her cadmium as they’d exited the temple - not that it would have done anything anyway. A useless metal for a useless person.

A short while after Sect had returned to her post, a group of guards approached, Edwarn walking behind them. One of them was leading Allik at gunpoint, prodding him along as he limped forward, while two more were dragging Wayne by the armpits, his head hanging limply down towards the ground. 

Waxillium was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as they dropped Wayne unceremoniously on the ground, Marasi rushed over, pressing her fingers to his neck, but her fears proved mostly unfounded as he lifted his head to look at her with tired, dead eyes.

“Hey, Mara,” he said weakly, and the fact that he didn’t make any sort of comment about her touching him was almost more worrying than his injuries. “Wax?”

“...I don’t know,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He just grunted, pulling himself into a sitting position and staring out blankly into the distance.

Marasi looked back to see Steris set her own thick coat around Allik’s shoulders as he shivered furiously. There was a crack in his mask, and judging by the way he’d been limping, she didn’t need to guess where he had been or what had happened.

The guards left, but Edwarn stayed behind, occasionally glancing over at them with a tiny, smug smile on his face.

“Suit.” Telsin strode up from the opposite direction, now wearing a heavy oilskin coat over her clothes. “Report.”

“Ah, Niece! Or, Lady Sequence, my apologies.” He reached inside his coat, and pulled something out with a flourish. “You will be _delighted_ to learn that there was in fact a secret chamber underneath the temple.”

The object Edwarn held out to her was a pair of silvery armbands, completely without adornment.

Telsin’s eyes went wide, and Marasi’s heart froze in her chest. 

_The glass had been on the_ outside _of the case._ The realisation of what had been bothering her about the temple came entirely too late to make any difference. The chamber had been a fake to deter thieves, and they’d fallen for it.

“Are they-?” Telsin asked.

“Drained, unfortunately.” Marasi breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Survivor for small favours. 

“Hm,” Telsin said, disappointed, but took them from Edwarn anyway, turning them over in her hands.

“Waxillium?” Telsin asked.

“He put up a fight, but he’ll live. I’ve sent a few men to bring him back,” Edwarn said dismissively. “A little time will sap some of the fight from him, cool his head.”

Telsin frowned, but didn’t dispute the point as she stared down at the Bands. “Empty, after all this… what a waste. ” She clicked her tongue and Sect strode over, taking the Bands from her. “Still, I’m sure we’ll be able to gain _something_ from them. How goes the ship?”

“The savages are remarkably consistent in their designs,” Edwarn said smugly. “No doubt another piece of knowledge taught to them by the Lord Ruler. We can take off as soon as the rest of the cargo is loaded.”

“No,” Telsin said firmly. “Take off now - we’ll load the rest in via skimmer. I want to be in the air as soon as possible.”

“Oh, come now, Niece,” Edwarn scoffed, “surely that’s unnecessary-”

“That didn’t sound like ‘yes, ma’am’, _Suit_.”

Edwarn sneered, and gave an obsequious bow. “ _Yes, ma’am_.” He dropped a coin on the ground and soared away. 

Telsin turned back to them. “Never ever work with family,” she said wearily. “Always goes sidewise.”

“I hope you die,” Steris said calmly. “Painfully.”

Telsin actually took a step back, eyes going wide. She recovered her composure almost immediately, but they’d all seen that she’d been genuinely hurt.

_Good._

“...I’ll send a skimmer for you once we're in the air,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

MeLaan vibrated strongly, and Marasi could tell she was laughing.

As soon as Telsin was out of earshot, Steris immediately returned to Allik’s side, flipping furiously through her notebook. The Southerner was still shivering violently, the thick coat only able to do so much to bolster his weak constitution.

Marasi started taking off her own coat, but Steris shook her head.

“I know I may not always carry my weight in our group…” she said quietly, continuing to search through her notebook. She stopped near the back, and then _reached inside_ and pulled out a medallion.

A cutout, Marasi realised. 

“- _but_ ,” Steris finished, eminently self-satisfied, “I _do_ have my moments.”

Wayne snatched the medallion from her and slipped it under Allik’s coat. The scrawny Southerner immediately relaxed, his shivering fading away. 

“M’ only gonna say this once,” Wayne said, voice hoarse and raw, “so don’ expect a repeat; ...thank you, Steris.”

“You’re welcome, Wayne,” Steris said primly. “I also have metal vials-” and Wayne shot up to alertness, “-but we should wait for Lord Waxillium to return.”

Marasi let them plan. It wouldn’t make a difference, but if it helped them feel better about their situation, then who was she to take that away? But it wasn’t like they stood a chance, not when the Set had the Bands of Mourning-

The _empty_ Bands of Mourning.

Why would the Lord Ruler go to all the trouble of building the temple, creating a _fake_ upper section with a staged break-in and a secret chamber accessible only to those with the correct knowledge, to protect a pair of metalminds that were drained anyway? It didn’t make _sense_ -

Unless-

Unless _those_ weren’t the real Bands either?

Marasi sat up straight, all thoughts of their predicament forgotten as her mind churned. It was twisty, to be sure, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The best cons were the ones where the mark came away thinking they’d gotten the better of you, after all-

_Con?_

The word had come to her unconsciously, but it fit. It was a con, just one designed to _prevent_ theft instead of enable it. 

Only- that didn’t… _feel_ like the Lord Ruler, like what she knew of the Lord Ruler. 

But it _did_ feel familiar.

It felt like…

Like...

A flash of motion caught her eye, and she turned her head as someone walked by the statue-

...the _statue._

Marasi’s eyes went wide. Like the tumblers of a combination lock clicking into place, all the pieces came together in her mind.

_There’s always another secret._

Steris’s bag was still sitting at her side, and she leant over and snatched it up, barely hearing her sister’s protests as she rifled furiously through its depths. At the very bottom, she found a small parcel wrapped in faded broadsheets and pulled it free, tearing through the paper to reveal the dull, wind-burnished surface of the aluminium spearhead.

Except- they didn’t actually _know_ it was aluminium, did they? Wax had said as much - he’d probably not seen any lines from it with his steelsight. But aluminium wasn’t the only thing that couldn’t be affected by Allomancy. Metalminds were the same, if they had enough power stored.

And- if it worked like the medallions, then it only worked if you _knew_ it worked, which meant-

Marasi closed her hand around the Bands of Mourning, and tapped steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > **Telsin:** _Wayne_ figured it out? _Wayne?!_ This is a real- low point. Yeah, this one hurts.
> 
> whaaaaaaat? the spearhead was the bands?!?!! who could have seen this coming?!?!!  
> look we had to end the chapter somewhere
> 
> (if you got an email notification for this chapter a day or two ago but it had disappeared when you tried loading it im sorry! i accidentally hit post on the unfinished draft on monday night)
> 
>   
> notes:  
> \- i went to all the trouble of making up an underling for Telsin only to find just now that she already had one in canon! whoops!  
> \- its fine, nobody cares  
> \- anyway i love the silent, scarily competent underling trope, sue me  
> \- Sect is not a character in any way, im just being self-indulgent  
> \- fighting! this fic actually ended up being way less action-y than id intended, and i hadnt even intended on a lot. i used to have the opposite problem though (too much action not enough character) that ill consider it a growth moment


	17. Tyrannous / To Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > So you must be the first that gives this sentence /
>> 
>> and he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent /
>> 
>> to have a giant's strength; but it is **tyrannous /**
>> 
>> **to use** it like a giant.
> 
> \- William Shakespeare, _Measure for Measure_

The world froze in place.

Marasi stared in awe at the snowflakes, pinned in midair like butterflies on a corkboard. Plumes of condensation hung frozen in front of the faces of the soldiers around them, faces contorted awkwardly in the split-second transitional expressions that no-one would ever see under normal circumstances. In the distance, she could see the Hunters’ ship as it lifted into the air, snow still falling from its form. The rotors in the side-mounted engines were one of the few things moving fast enough to register as such to her, turning slowly like a house fan set to low. 

She turned her head slowly, and found the others frozen like actors in a pantomime, mouths half-open and eyes half-closed. Their bizarre faces, like the moment before a sneeze, were enough to make Marasi giggle as she went to stand up-

-and tumbled to the ground instead, flailing awkwardly. Her limbs were moving so quickly that her brain couldn’t keep up - the instant she tried to _start_ a motion, they were already at the end, and it played hell on her coordination. She tried once or twice more, but kept overextending or misjudging placements and ending up right back on the ground.

 _I wonder if the Lord Ruler ever did this_ , she couldn’t help but think, and suppressed another inappropriate giggle.

She steadied herself on her hands and knees, staring down at the stone. _I’m going about this wrong,_ she realised. She was so used to having only a single ability that she’d instinctively tried to treat the power from the Bands the same way. But it wasn’t the plurality of abilities that made a Mistborn, or even a Twinborn like Wax, dangerous; it was the fact that they could be used _together_. 

Marasi reached down towards the Bands again, the same way she did when burning cadmium. She could sense other pools of power in the metalmind, but most of them were inaccessible to her, except for two - the steel, which she’d already drawn on, and one other that she didn’t recognise. She tapped the latter-

-and gasped, as all the other wells of power opened themself up to her. Nicrosil, she instinctively understood - like the medallions, it contained the _potential_ to draw on any metal. She’d unconsciously tapped the ability to use feruchemical steel at first, as it had been the only one she’d intended to use, but now the entire breadth of Feruchemy was spread before her. No, Feruchemy and Allomancy _both_ \- there were far too many little bundles of power to account for one alone. Thirty-two clusters of potential, each made up of dozens of individual parts. 

All of them hers.

Marasi tapped zinc, and got to her feet effortlessly as her mental processes sped up to match her physical speed. She took two steps forward, then felt a sting of pain and looked down to see her skin catching on fire.

She shrieked, jumping backwards, which only made things worse; sparks erupted along every part of her in motion, flaring with pain. 

_Heat!_ Hastily, she started storing brass, and all the flames were snuffed out in an instant. Her temperature plummeted as well, but after a few seconds of juggling the amount of storage, she found an intuitive rhythm, storing more when she moved as she walked around in circles, less when she stood still. 

(She did her best to ignore the smell of singed hair - that was a problem for tomorrow’s Marasi).

All that, just to stand up and walk about. The entire process was proving fiendishly complex - without the zinc bolstering her mental processing, there was no way she’d be able to manage it all...

...but she _did_ have zinc. She had _everything._

The true enormity of her situation began to sink in.

The Bands of Mourning. All the power of the Lord Ruler, the power that had ruled over an entire people for a thousand years. 

And now Marasi held it too.

Which was… _terrifying._ Absolutely bone-chilling on so many levels. In the long term, even just the idea of trying to puzzle out the ethics and responsibility and implications of that power set her head spinning. But...

 _But,_ in the _short_ term, she found she had very little ethical qualms at all.

Moving carefully to avoid bumping into anyone, Marasi circled around the group, until she could see over Steris’s shoulder, and down into the hollow in her notebook and its contents. Two vials each of steel, bendalloy and cadmium. Two spare metalminds, an iron bracelet and a gold ring. A handful of medallions. And-

Marasi blinked in shock, then couldn’t stop a giddy smile from spreading across her face. She grabbed both of the steel vials, and one each of the others, downing all but one of the steel, and then stopped tapping speed.

“Steris,” she said, and the entire group flinched away with cries of alarm from what, from their perspective, must have looked like instantaneous travel, “you are _never_ allowed to disparage your own usefulness again.”

And with that, she turned around and _Pushed._

It was like being at the eye of a storm. Within a radius of a few feet, her companions’s possessions and weapons lay utterly untouched and still. And outside that tiny circle of calm, _every single other_ metal item in the courtyard was flung backwards with the force of a runaway train. Set soldiers went flying backwards with screams, Pushed by their firearms, metalmind strapped around limbs, or even by the spikes embedded into their flesh. Under ordinary circumstances, the latter two would resist Pushes or Pulls, but these were no ordinary circumstances, and the power of the Bands was no ordinary Allomancy. The blue lines that stretched out of Marasi’s chest were so thick and numerous that they looked like thick, braided cables before they stretched far enough away to diverge. She could sense the fragments of metal in the ground beneath their feet, the individual flakes of metal in vials, even a few pieces of metal in Allik’s _mouth,_ for some reason.

Marasi turned back to the group, to find them staring at her with wide eyes, mouths agape. The shock, the awe, sent a little thrill down her spine, but she furiously quashed it back down. 

“How-” Wayne breathed, eyes like saucers.

“No time,” Marasi said. “Gonna fetch Wax, then go after Telsin.”

“Uh, Mara,” Wayne said, “don’t know if you noticed, but there’s still a rustin’ _army,_ and we aint’s exactly-”

Tapping steel and zinc once more, Marasi ducked out from underneath the pavilion, grabbed as many firearms as she could carry, then dumped them next to the group as she returned to her normal speed. She hadn’t stopped tapping zinc, though, and so she easily identified the lines that corresponded to the rest of the scattered firearms throughout the courtyard, then tapped iron and Pushed on only those. Rifles, pistols and shotguns went flying off the edge of the courtyard, falling down into the snow-filled crevasse below.

“-armed,” Wayne finished slowly. “Well. Alright then.”

On the ground, MeLaan’s insensate form vibrated in response. Marasi wanted to crouch down, comfort her somehow, say _something,_ but the words caught in her throat.

“Stay safe,” she instructed them all instead, then Pushed off the metal fragments in the ground and shot into the air, arcing towards the temple entrance. 

The feeling of flying through the air under her own power was… more exhilarating than she could have ever imagined. She didn’t understand why Coinshots ever came down, why they didn’t spend every free second like this, soaring free of gravity’s embrace, wind rushing past their ears, mists curling around them-

_Wait, mist?_

Marasi glanced down, and realised that they were coming from _her,_ spinning out of her skin like flowers blooming, trailing behind her. A _literal_ mistcloak, one that spun around her and buffeted like a cloud when she landed in front of the temple doors, that left a frozen trail behind her as she tapped speed and dashed down the corridor to the main chamber, blowing aside the soldiers there with just the speed of her movements.

If ten-year-old Marasi could see her now, she thought, she might actually cry tears of joy. 

And if anyone were able to somehow see twenty-six-year-old Marasi doing the same, she would have blamed it on the wind.

The trap that Waxillium had opened remained so, but stakes had been driven into the stone near its edge and a rope ladder hung from them, descending down into the depths. Marasi kicked them both free, then jumped down, a gentle Push against the bottom of the pit slowing her fall.

Like Edwarn had described, a rough-hewn tunnel was carved out of one wall at the bottom. It was pitch-black, but Marasi could see the edges outlined in blue, as easy as if lit by the midday sun. 

(Marasi wasn’t even sure that what she was seeing was trace metals anymore - it felt like some of the lines were drawn from something more fundamental than that. What, she had no idea, but she felt fairly certain that there wasn’t nearly enough metal in stone or dirt to produce the fidelity she could see).

The tunnel twisted and turned, before slowly transitioning back into carved stone like that of the temple above. A soft blue light slowly faded in as she moved forward, until she rounded one last bend and the tunnel opened up into a small chamber lit by the same hue as the temple above their heads.

It was a smaller space than the decoy room (the _first_ of the decoy rooms, rather), and significantly less ostentatious, with no carvings on the stone, no dias or skylight. 

Three Set soldiers stood near the entrance, smoking cheap cigarettes and laughing. All three of their rifles speckled with fresh blood across the stocks, as if they’d been used as bludgeoning weapons, and their knuckles and cuffs were similarly stained. 

A smaller pedestal, similar to the one in the chamber above them but much plainer, sat in the centre of the room, the metal frame on top empty of its intended occupant. Propped against it on the floor, battered and bruised almost the point of recognition, was Wax.

He was still breathing - in the stillness, she could see the faint plume of condensation in front of his mouth. Whether under instructions from Edwarn or under their own initiative, though, the soldiers had clearly decided to push the command to keep him alive to its absolute limit. Blood had soaked through his shirt from the original gunshot wound Telsin had inflicted, leaving it dark and glossy. His face was just one big mess of bruises and swollen flesh, bloodied and raw like a slaughterhouse pig. The set of his jaw was all wrong, and Marasi could tell it was broken, as were the fingers of the hand that lay limply at his side. The other was clutched around his torso - probably broken ribs as well.

In a day full of fundamentally _wrong_ occurrences, this was by far the most disturbing. Next to the sight of Dawnshot Waxillium bleeding and battered and _broken,_ everything else was just noise. It shouldn’t have been real. It _couldn’t_ have been real. That just… wasn’t how the world worked. Wax took hits, he got shot, but he _kept_ going. 

It wasn’t _right._

It wasn’t _fair,_ that this could happen to him too. He was supposed to be _above_ this-

 _“The thing about ‘fair’ is,” MeLaan continued, growing more serious, “you can look at life and you can find all the things that are unfair and tally them up and break down how they’re unfair, and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s good to know where you stand! But at the end of the day, it’s never going to be as helpful as figuring out w_ hat you can change _and_ what you can’t. _”_

Marasi focused on her breathing, calming herself. 

_What can I change?_

The answer, almost blindingly obvious, came to her immediately. If this wasn’t how things were supposed to be, then _fix_ them.

Her first instinct was just to pick up Wax and speed him away, leaving the soldiers none the wiser, but problems with that plan reared their head immediately. For one, she might not even have enough steel to get them both away. The amount of speed stored in the Bands had been colossal, so much power that trying to conceptualise it in terms of a single bead of cadmium would be like trying to quantify the ocean in relation to a single drop, but it was draining at an _alarming_ rate. She’d already used up more than three-quarters of what had been originally stored, and it continued to plummet with every passing moment. Moving Wax might require even more power than just moving herself - if she could even do so without hurting him. 

Taking care of the guards, then attending to Wax, certainly seemed to be the safest and most prurient option.

More important than ‘safe’ or ‘prurient’, though, was the simple fact they’d hurt her friend. 

Ice in her veins, Marasi grabbed one of their rifles and stepped back, the wind created by her movement just beginning to disturb the curls of cigarette smoke as she checked it was loaded. Without hesitation, she lined up her shot with the first soldier’s head, and fired.

The gun _cracked_ and bucked against her shoulder like normal, but the gunsmoke that curled from the barrel slowed and froze entirely. When she looked carefully, she could see that the bullet had fired normally but then slowed as soon as it had left the barrel, inching forward barely faster than a particularly drowsy honeybee.

_Interesting._

As much as she would give to experiment further, the steel stored up in the Bands was beginning to draw dangerously low. She aimed and fired at the two other soldiers in quick succession, stepped back, and stopped tapping steel.

A staccato three-beat of gunfire rang out, so close together as to almost be a single noise, and the soldiers collapsed like puppets with cut strings, dead before they hit the ground. 

Marasi looked down at the blood starting to leak from the holes in their heads, disgust starting to well up in her stomach. Then, it abruptly vanished, and she realised she’d instinctively started tapping something else from the Bands. Electrum - determination. 

_Well, isn’t that… handy._

More than a little disturbing, as well, but it was hardly the time. 

She moved over to Wax’s side, jostling him slightly with one hand to try and wake him. “Waxillium?” He stirred, but didn’t register her presence. “Waxillium? Hey, Wax?” He remained insensate, so Marasi whispered a quick apology, then pinched his arm as hard as she could.

He jerked forward, eyes snapping open as he grunted in pain.

“Sorry, sorry!” Marasi repeated frantically.

“Hnrgh…” His eyes were glazed and distant, struggling to focus as he looked at her. “Mara…? Wht…?”

“Whoa, hey,” Marasi said, stopping him with one hand as he tried to sit up. “Here.” She reached down, holding the Bands to the skin of his hand. She’d taken every last parcel of power from them, but now she singled out the gold feruchemy and stored it back in the nicrosil of the metalmind. “I need you to tap gold, Wax. Tap _gold,_ yeah?”

Something about the situation seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Wax grunted incoherently, but after a moment, she felt the nicrosil empty again, and the now-inaccessible store of health begin to drain (although nowhere close to the rate she’d drained the speed). Before her eyes, faster than she’d ever seen from Wayne, wounds stitched themselves up and bruises faded. The bones in his hands actually made an audible _noise_ when they realigned themselves, which was distinctly horrifying.

“Well, that’s disturbing,” Wax muttered, exhausted but now coherent. He glanced up at Marasi, and she was relieved to see that the light had returned to his eyes. “Marasi.”

“Hey,” she said with a weak grin. “Found the Bands.”

He chuckled, pushing himself up to his feet. “I can see that. The spearhead, huh.”

Marasi followed him up, making sure the Bands stayed in skin contact. “Thank your lovely fiance for her thievery.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He glanced around, at the corpses bleeding out onto the stone. “Is Telsin…?”

“Yeah,” Marasi confirmed grimly. “Yeah.” There was no time for a proper recounting, so she explained the bare minimum about the Hunters’s ship.

He glanced down at the Bands again. “Guess we should pay them a visit, then.”

“Guess so.” 

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. 

“Are you-”

“Should I-”

They both spoke at the same time, then stopped.

“You go,” Wax said.

“Right.” Marasi cleared her throat. “Er. It’s probably easiest if I-” She gestured awkwardly. “You know. Carry. You.”

“...well,” Wax said after a moment. “I suppose. That… makes sense.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“Agreed.”

“Yep.”

* * *

Compared to _that_ , tearing a hole in the ceiling of the temple and Pushing them both towards the airship was a walk in the park.

* * *

The wind tore at Marasi’s hair as they flew through the sky, the airship’s form growing rapidly larger as they approached. After an _excruciating_ few first attempts, the details of which they had mutually agreed would stay buried with the temple, they’d figured out that it was easiest for Wax to store iron and for Marasi to… well, to carry him on her back, arms wrapped around her neck.

Which was, again, the _least_ uncomfortable option.

In the courtyard below, figures in heavy furs rounding up the Set soldiers, corralling them into the same tent where they’d been formerly imprisoned. It was enough reassurance that Marasi felt secure in not stopping to help - things seemed to be well in hand.

“There!” Wax yelled in her ear, and Marasi adjusted course towards the point on the side of the ship he’d indicated. Marasi couldn’t see any obvious point of ingress, but then remembered that it didn’t matter, and tore a hole in a section of the metal panelling with a quick and brutal Push. It created a brief jolt in the course of their trajectory before Marasi hastily corrected for the opposing force - power didn’t necessarily mean skill, and she had only a few minutes worth of experience.

One last Push, burning through the last of her steel, deposited them aboard the ship. The hole Marasi had torn them led into some kind of storage room, and cans of various shapes and sizes lay scattered about in between shattered crates.

Wax quickly unlaced his arms and stepped back, unslinging the rifle Marasi had taken from the soldiers and handing it back to her. They both spent a few moments checking their weapons - Wax had taken a pair of revolvers from the guards, which he un- and re-loaded, grumbling about poor handling. The rifle Marasi had _borrowed_ was no Valediction, but it was a solid piece all the same. 

It felt a bit bizarre to be spending their precious time like that, but they both knew that it was better than having a gun misfire in their faces when it really counted.

“Right,” Wax said once they were both prepared. “We should-”

“Ah, my dear nephew,” Edwarn’s voice boomed out from the doorway.

They both spun around, raising their weapons. The figure in the doorway was _not_ Edwarn, though - it was a nondescript Set soldier, unarmed, carrying a small box in one hand, and some kind of device in the other.

“At least,” Edwarn’s voice continued, being projected out of the box, “I _assume_ that was you. If some unrelated incident has caused a hole to be torn in the side of the ship, please disregard this message.” Wax growled, low in his throat. From context, Marasi assumed this was another of the long-distance speaking devices he’d described Lady Kelesina using. “If that _is_ you, Waxillium, then welcome aboard our new ship! I’m sure your little helper has delivered you the Bands by now, but given that I have not been immediately cuffed and manhandled, I have to assume you’ve run out of speed.” He chuckled.

Marasi winced. If she’d been thinking ahead, she could have used some of the steel to compound more - but no, she’d only have been able to create a _fraction_ of what she’d used up. _Stupid. You got drunk on power, and look what it got you._

“Still, I’m sure you’re more than capable of tearing this ship apart for me, so I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a little countermeasure.”

The soldier raised his other hand, revealing the device to be a small trigger, connected via wires to the box. His thumb was pressed firmly down on the switch, holding it steady without shaking. 

“The bomb the Hunters were planning on dropping on the temple has been attached to the ship’s engine, and fitted with a remote transceiver. If my man here removes his thumb from the trigger, or if I press this button in front of me, it will detonate, creating a chain reaction with the engine and wiping this ship, the temple, and everyone in them clean off the face of the mountain.”

“He’s bluffing,” Marasi said incredulously. “Surely he’s bluffing.”

“He’s not bluffing,” Wax said quietly. 

“ _Unless,_ ” Edwarn continued. “There is a tradition in the Roughs, is there not? Two men, a dusty road, guns on their hips. Man against man. One lives. The other dies. A dispute settled. I can’t give you a dusty road, but perhaps we can squint and pretend that the frost is playing that role. Toss the Bands out the side, and I will give you your precious mythology.”

“He can’t be serious,” Marasi said.

“He’s serious,” Wax repeated. “ _Of course_ he’s serious, but we can’t take that risk anyway.”

“I know,” Marasi said, her hand tightening instinctively around the spearhead. “It’s just-”

“I know.”

He was right. She _knew_ he was right. The consequences of trying to call Edwarn’s bluff and failing were… unacceptable.

But turning around and tossing the Bands through the hole in the side of the ship, feeling their power disappear with them, was _still_ one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

The soldier reached down and pressed a button on the side of the device. “Ah,” Edwarn said happily. “I see you’ve made the wise decision, Nephew.” His smug little grin was practically audible through the device. “Then…” There was a _click,_ and to emphasise the point, the soldier lifted his thumb free of the trigger. “The bomb is disabled. Not that I can _prove_ that to you, I imagine you’re thinking, but then again, I couldn’t prove there was a bomb in the first place, could I?” He chuckled. “You couldn’t take that risk. I _know_ you, Waxillium. But I am a man of my word, nevertheless. The way will be clear; I await your arrival.”

The device crackled, and then went silent.

Wax stalked over to the soldier, who made no move to hinder him in any way, and knocked the box out of his hands. 

“ _Run_ ,” he growled, guttural and harsh.

The soldier turned and walked calmly away, completely lacking in fear.

“Wax-” Marasi said.

“You go to the engine room,” he growled over his shoulder. “Make sure he can’t set off the bomb if things don’t go his way. I’ll go and play his stupid game, for the _last_ time.”

Marasi wanted to protest, that his uncle had a way of getting under his skin, that it wasn’t worth playing along with his games, but Wax had already stalked around the corner, heading for the front of the ship.

She sighed, shouldering her rifle and beginning to jog in the opposite direction. 

Thankfully, the ship turned out to have more in common with the _Brunstell_ than just general design principles. The engine room was located at the back of the ship, in the middle of the vertical decks, the beating bronze heart of the airship, with small windows at the back of the room letting the natural light in. The corridors on Marasi’s way down had been shockingly empty - but then again, the Set were probably operating with a skeleton crew, much smaller than the complement the ship had been designed for.

A device had been attached to the engine, clearly of the same make as the ship around them. The bomb, Marasi had no doubt. Another of the speaking-boxes had been wired into it to serve as the activator, but the wires leading from it to the bomb itself had been cut clean through, rendering it useless.

“Kept me waiting, huh?” 

At the sound of the voice from behind her, Marasi froze, then slowly turned around to find herself staring down the barrel of a rifle. A barrel she _recognised._

Perched on a raised section of the engine room with her feet dangling slightly off the ground, pointing Valediction at Marasi, was Telsin Ladrian- no, Sequence of the Set. One hand held the rifle, braced against her torso to absorb the recoil, while the other held a pipe, smoke drifting from the bowl.

Marasi started to raise her own rifle, but a little waggle of the gun stopped her cold. “Let’s not,” Telsin said casually. “Put it on the ground - _slowly,_ please.” Gritting her teeth, Marasi complied, unslinging the strap from her shoulders. “Thank you.” With an odd skittering noise, it shot back along the ground until it hit a wall with a metallic clank.

“Coinshot too?” Marasi asked, managing to hold a semblance of calm even as her heart hammered in her chest. “Really committing to imitating Waxillium, I see.” 

“Please,” Telsin scoffed, taking a puff from her pipe. “Not everything is about him, as much as he’d like to think so. It’s simply extremely useful.”

Marasi dug her fingernails into her palms, staring at the pipe. “ _You_ disabled the bomb?”

“Of course I did,” Telsin replied. “I wasn’t going to let my idiot of an uncle destroy this entire ship and kill us all just for the sake of his stupid obsession with my brother.”

She glanced down, noticing where Marasi was looking. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said with a small smirk. “It helps with my joints. Maybe you’ll be more sympathetic in a decade or so.”

“Stop!” Marasi all-but-shouted. “Stop acting- like we’re friends! Like we’re just _having a casual chat_. Like we’re back on the skimmer and everything’s _fine!_ ”

The worst part was, it was far too seductive a premise. 

All of this might have been a bit easier to handle if the Telsin Marasi had met before had been a complete fabrication, a mask slipped on like a kandra changing faces. But, the problem was, she really wasn’t that different. The woman in front of her might have bore less weight around her shoulders, possessed a certain vitality she’d lacked before, but she was still essentially the same woman they’d been travelling with since the warehouse.

The same woman who saved Marasi’s life-

The same woman who’d damn near _killed her own brother_ , who’d had Allik’s crew imprisoned and tortured.

It didn’t matter what else she’d done. Nothing else was enough to outweigh those.

Telsin’s face soured at Marasi’s words, and she set down the pipe next to her. “Fine. You want it to be like that? It can be like that.” She raised Valediction-

-and the instant she moved, Marasi flared her metals and threw up a cadmium bubble, _just_ big enough to catch the very tip of the rifle.

It was the same principle as steelrunning, only applied in reverse. Force was a function of mass and acceleration, and acceleration was a function of time. Even something as relatively simple as a push or a throw still had a temporal component, a degree of force over time. So when two objects operating on a different timescale interacted, it meant that force could become magnified or diminished, as it was either distributed over a much greater span of time or concentrated into a much smaller one.

Valediction was being affected by the bubble, but Telsin wasn’t - objects touching a speed bubble were part of its effect, but it didn’t transfer beyond that. Even something as simple as Telsin lifting the rifle was magnified in its results.

So when Marasi dropped the bubble almost as soon as she’d created it, Valediction went flying forward out of Telsin’s hands and clattered across the floor.

Telsin’s eyes went wide, but Marasi was already moving, practically throwing herself across the room after its spinning form. She was only about a foot away, ready to bend down and snatch it up, when the _click_ of a revolver’s hammer stopped her dead in her tracks.

She turned, and found Telsin pointing a revolver at her. Not just any revolver, but the one Marasi had given her.

“You really are an incredibly skilled Pulser,” Telsin commented idly. She jerked the revolver to one side, and Marasi stepped in the direction indicated, away from Valediction. “That’s one of the most powerful things a person can do, to me; taking the poor hand they’ve been dealt and turning it into a strength through effort and will alone. Truly, I admire that about you, Marasi.”

“Spare me,” Marasi snapped bitterly. “Either shit or get off the pot, just stop _talking._ ” She had no idea where the expression had come from, but it felt right for the anger burning in her.

Telsin sighed, ignoring her completely. “Marasi, over the past few days, I have gotten the impression that you are an _extremely intelligent_ young woman. So _why,_ in the name of all that’s holy, can you _not figure out_ that I _don’t want to kill you!”_

“Because you’re a _liar,_ ” Marasi shot back. “Because you lied to me- to _us_ , to your own _brother,_ and stabbed us all in the back. Why should I believe a _single_ word you say?!”

“...well,” Telsin said after a second. “I suppose I don’t really have a leg to stand on there, do I. How about pattern recognition, then? It would have been _vastly_ easier for me to kill you on any of the _multiple_ opportunities I’ve had.”

“Not if you need to keep us alive to spike us.”

“ _Alive_ , yes, but I could have kneecapped you all and tied you up.” The casual brutality delivered in such a nonchalant tone made Marasi sick, disgusted with herself that she’d ever thought well of the woman opposite her. “Shot Steris and Allik, too, seeing as they aren’t Metalborn.”

“If you’re trying to convince me how _reasonable_ you are,” she managed to say, “then you’re not doing a very good job.”

Telsin had the audacity to actually look baffled for a moment, before she smoothed away the emotion. “Surely I’m a more palatable option than _Suit,_ at least.”

“‘Better’ doesn’t mean _good_ ,” Marasi snapped back. “You’re just- you’re stalling.”

Telsin chuckled humourlessly. “Why would I need to stall, Marasi? I have the upper hand here. If anything, you should be jumping on this chance. It’ll take at least a minute or two for Asinthew to beat our uncle like the redheaded stepchild, and a few more to make his way down here, so every second brings you closer to having the numerical advantage.”

Marasi couldn’t exactly deny any of that, but Telsin’s reassurances didn’t make her feel any better about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Then _why_ are you doing it?”

“Because,” Telsin answered, “I’m _trying_ to avoid this going any more wrong than it already has.” She gestured with the gun towards a crate opposite her. “So sit down, and let’s have a talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !  
> VS:  
> TELSIN LADRIAN  
> (DIALOGUE VER.)
> 
> FIGHT!  
> ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !  
> \-----
> 
> not a very gay chapter, i know, but i promise its coming.
> 
> The quoted section is from waaaaaay back in Chapter Two, and is actually loosely based on a DBT concept called radical acceptance, although I didn't realise that consciously at the time. Therapy!
> 
> notes:  
> \- dont have a concrete reason why marasi doesnt immediately tap everything like she does in canon. didnt feel like it. shrug.  
> \- there's no logic behind Allik having fillings either, i just thought it would be funny if the southerners had good dentistry while Elendel is still in the 'coke and mummy dust' era.  
> \- feruchemical steel _does_ speed up your cognition to keep up with it, but im choosing to interpret that as _to a degree_ , in the same way that iron doesnt make you completely immune to the consequences of, say, falling out of the sky at triple-weight. The speeds Marasi was moving at were only really possibly for more than a second at a time through compounding, so i’m interpreting that as outstripping the leg up f!steel has intrinsically and requiring zinc to compensate.  
> \- the physics knowledge that marasi displays might be a leeeeeetle complex for the level of advancement, but i think with access to time alteration powers, their understanding of such things is probably more advanced than it would be otherwise, and the basic principles of force and mass absolutely existed already, so i consider it to be plausible enough  
> \- on the subject of time bubbles, i ended up doing an annoying amount of math for this chapter. We know from early chapters of Alloy of law that a bendalloy bubble converted about fifteen external seconds to around two internal minutes, or a ratio of eight to one. we also know that flaring a temporal metal increases the degree of time dilation, so if we assume that the same ratio applies in reverse to cadmium with eight seconds outside being equivalent to one inside, then it seems personally reasonable that it could have a large effect on the multiplication of force, especially considering that Marasi is specifically flaring her cadmium to create a greater degree of dilation. im no physicist but within the made-up bullshit dimension that seems internally consistent to me.  
> \- human beings can theoretically perceive periods of time down to the millisecond level, so when Marasi 'flickers' bubbles, to me that means that from her perspective it's only active for a fraction of a second - half a second at absolute most and usually shorter. so she's only missing a second or two from outside perspectives, which isn't _nothing_ but still isnt like. teleports behind you levels of time dilation.  
> \- anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk.


	18. They That Mourn, And I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, 'Blessed are **they that mourn,' and I** accept it. I've got nothing that I hadn't bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not imagination.
> 
> \- C.S. Lewis, _A Grief Observed_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't kidding about the dialogue boss battle thing. buckle up, girls and gays

“Talk about _what?_ ”

Telsin shrugged one shoulder. “That’s up to you, mostly. I imagine you have questions, and I believe I should be able to answer some of them. To a degree, at least.”

“Which you would do _because?_ ” Marasi demanded.

Telsin rolled her eyes. “For god’s sake, Marasi, it’s a gesture of goodwill. Do you have to be so obstinate?”

“Do you have to point a gun at me?” Marasi countered. “Because lowering it would be a _fantastic_ gesture of goodwill.”

Telsin smiled, warm and slightly patronising. “And if I do, you won’t immediately try and take advantage of it?” Marasi’s ensuing silence was enough answer on its own. “Mm. Quite. I feel I should remind you that I am still wearing one of Asinthew’s shirts, in addition.”

“I-” The _non sequitur_ caught Marasi off-guard. “What?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” With her free hand, Telsin reached down and tapped the shirt’s third button, sitting in the middle of her chest. “All the buttons are wood, except for this one, which is steel. Sitting directly in line with the nexus of steelsight, it makes for a handy weapon of last resort for a paranoid Coinshot.”

“Fascinating,” Marasi said, as dryly as she could manage (it mostly involved channelling her sister).

“The point being,” Telsin continued, a little irritated now, “I don’t _need_ the gun to kill you, Marasi, it’s just more convenient. As skilled as you are with cadmium, it just simply can’t compare.”

Marasi hated how deeply that stung. Worse, now, that she’d tasted the full breadth of the Metallic Arts, only to find herself reduced once more. 

“Ah, yes,” she said icily. “Excellent work with the goodwill, insulting me.”

Shockingly, Telsin frowned, actually looking taken aback. “...ah, rusts,” she murmured. “Sorry about that. When you work with the Set, you learn very quickly to speak in hidden barbs and threats. Surprisingly hard to turn off, if you don’t set clear boundaries. Ruined my last two attempts at relationships, at least.”

“My sympathies,” Marasi said, her tone clearly communicating how deep and sincere the sentiment ran.

“Look,” Telsin sighed, running a hand through her hair, “are you going to sit or not?”

As much as Marasi wanted to be petty, dig her heels in and get under the older woman’s skin, she couldn’t deny any of the points that had been made earlier. Every second they talked was another second closer to Waxillium arriving, and while Marasi was _not_ eager to be a useless captive, she was even less eager to be _shot._

In fact _,_ she realised, it could even be more than one-to-one.

Marasi sat down, and as she did, dropped a speed bubble around the two of them. She extended it out into the corridor, but made sure to exclude the engine - she didn’t know what it suddenly being in a different timescale would do to the ship, and wasn’t particularly interested in finding out.

Not while she was on board, at least.

“Excellent,” Telsin said. “Now, drop the speed bubble, please? And don’t even try and deny it, I can see the difference in the steel lines.”

Furious and impetent, Marasi let her metals fall quiescent. Fantastic. The one thing her metal was useful for, and even _that_ didn’t work. 

Telsin gave another one of those condescending smiles that made Marasi reconsider her own status as ‘not generally a violent person’. “It’s a handy trick; not your fault I read the report on the arrest of the Vanishers.” 

“Fine,” Marasi said, folding her arms. “Here’s my first question, then: give me a list of the names, addresses and professions of every member of the Set that you can bring to mind.”

Telsin sighed. “ _Some_ questions. Which, I feel the need to point out, that actually was _not_.”

“What are the names, addresses, professions-”

“Stop. No. Next question.”

“Worth a shot,” Marasi said, baring her teeth in a manner that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a smile. “Why?” she asked. “Why… any of this? Why did you join the Set? What’s your end-goal, here?”

Telsin pursed her lips. “Multiple questions, there, but I’m going to interpret that as how I originally joined the Set. It’s not a particularly interesting story, to be honest. Back in my clinic days - towards the end, really - I came back from washing my hands to find the patient I’d been preparing to patch up lying dead in his chair, and a man digging through his jacket.”

“So you lied about why you quit as well.”

“No, I was telling the truth about that. Just not the _whole_ truth. Anyway, he attacked me, of course, but I wasn’t lying when I said that was where I learned to handle a firearm. I like to think I held my own, but truth be told I’d never have survived if my assailant had actually been trying to kill me. I’d already been heading towards my crisis of faith-” she inclined her head slightly, as if to say _see, I wasn’t lying,_ “and investigating the dead man and his murderer was the most engaged I’d felt with anything for quite a few years. And so on and so on, I dug too deep, they weren’t willing to let a loose end hang like that, and I decided that they had a purpose I could align myself with.” She shrugged one shoulder. “So, having been wavering for a while at that point, I left the clinic and returned to House Ladrian, and spent the next half-decade getting the financials in order and proving my worth, and here we are.”

Marasi must have made a face, because Telsin grinned at her. “I told you it wasn’t a very interesting story.”

The nebulous ‘they’ hadn’t slipped Marasi’s notice, but she tried a different angle. “Purpose. What _purpose?_ What’s your goal with all of this? What is it _for?_ ”

“Mine? Or the Set’s?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course there is. _Two people, three opinions_ , as the saying goes. No group of people can ever be truly united in every aspect, not even in cults.”

“So you admit it’s a cult, then.”

That got another chuckle out of Telsin. “Oh, parts of it, yes. Like any organisation, the Set is not an island. There are different factions and agendas, united by a common banner but not necessarily aligned in goals or ideals.”

“That common banner being…?”

“Advancement. Different sides will interpret that with different nuance, but primarily we are united by a desire to _move forward._ ”

“How… conveniently ambiguous.” Marasi crossed her arms. _What’s taking you so long, Wax?_ “Your goal, then, specifically.”

Telsin hummed. “Me… in those same broad terms, you could say that my side of things is primarily concerned with… innovation. Trell is a useful benefactor at times, but we don’t have any particular care for higher orders the way certain other factions do. Our primary interest is in furthering our understanding of the sciences and Metallic Arts, and creating a society that enables and supports that.”

“Through kidnapping, torture, and _breeding programs_.”

Telsin had the decency to at least look ashamed. “As I said, different factions. I don’t agree with many of the things other members of the organisation have done, but… yes, I wish I had more power to actually prevent them. I have more than I used to, at least.”

“And yet, still not enough to stop Allik’s crew from being tortured and treated like animals,” Marasi said flatly. “Waxillium had the right of it; if you can’t prevent _that_ , what good even are you?”

“I _did_ prevent that,” Telsin snapped, face twisting with anger as she leant forward. “As-” She closed her eyes, recovered her composure. “This entire operation is Edwarn’s, not mine. I only arrived recently in a supervisory role. And trust me, you didn’t see the conditions they were being kept in _before._ ”

“So, you’re the _lesser_ evil, is that it?”

“That’s a fundamentally childish way of looking at the world, but if you like, yes.”

Every second Marasi sat there, the more she regretted her decision to play along. Even if it _was_ an opportunity to get some answers.

“How does Edwarn fit into this, then?” she asked, instead of engaging with the bait.

At that, Telsin sighed deeply. “...like all organisations, the Set is also primarily composed at the highest level of old, rich men with ‘traditional’ values.” The disdain she put on the word made it clear what she thought of the concept. “I would not say that my uncle is part of that _faction_ , exactly, but he appeals to them in a way that has simply never been possible for a mixed-blood woman like me, regardless of actual results or competency.”

Despite everything, Marasi felt a pang of sympathy for the other woman. She had suffered enough for her gender, she could only imagine the added difficulties of race on top of that.

Not that it excused anything.

“When I returned to House Ladrian,” Telsin continued, “I was attempting to keep quite a few balls in the air. Unfortunately, that meant I wasn’t as circumspect as I should’ve been on occasion, and Edwarn eventually cottoned on to me. A few years after I’d returned, he discovered a _very small part_ of what I was doing, and forced the issue. When the situation made its way to my superiors, I was given an ultimatum - he was to be inducted, or... _silenced_. I chose the former, and have spent damn near every single day since regretting that decision.”

“You’d have killed your own uncle?!”  
Telsin snorted. “Marasi, have you met the man? I don’t say these words lightly, but my uncle is a boorish piece of shit, and quite frankly I’m ashamed to be related to him. If nothing else, his bloody obsession with my brother has caused us no end of rusting trouble.”

“And he deserves to die for that?” 

“Well, he was the primary supervisor of the-” she shuddered slightly, “- _breeding program_. Is _that_ enough?”

Marasi wanted to think that she’d have said no. That she’d assert the importance of due process. She didn’t have the confidence to open her mouth, though. She tried to avoid thinking about that first scheme of the Set’s they’d uncovered, what those poor woman must have had to deal with, because it had a tendency to leave her huddled in a corner in the dark, knees clutched to her chest. 

She didn’t have the confidence to open her mouth, because genuinely she wasn’t sure what the answer would be if she did.

“Anyway,” Telsin continued, “it’ll be a moot point shortly. Once his utter incompetence during this entire mission comes to light, it will _not_ endear him to the higher-ups.”

“Because _you_ sabotaged him,” Marasi pointed out.

She smirked impishly, looking much younger for a moment. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt me.” Marasi suddenly had a clear vision of the young Telsin from Wax’s rare stories, sneaking out of the Village to go drinking with her friends. 

Time to change tacks again. “You’re acting like failing to find the Bands isn’t going to affect you at all,” she said instead, leaning forward slightly.

At the motion, the barrel of the revolver tracked her, and the glint in Telsin’s eyes made it clear that she was well aware of what Marasi was trying to do.

“Oh, things will be shaky for a little while,” she said dismissively as Marasi settled back in her ‘seat’. “It was never about the Bands, Marasi.”

“... _excuse_ me?”

“Oh, Edwarn was suitably fervoured about them,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “And I certainly won’t complain about having them once we circle back around.” 

‘When’. 

Like there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she’d have the opportunity to do so, that she was going to come out on top.

Then again, she did have a gun trained on Marasi.

“If not the Bands, then _why?_ ”

Because of _this_.” This time, the gesture wasn’t non-specific, it was at the ship around them. “A synthesis of the Metallic Arts and technology, Allomancy and Feruchemy that anyone can use, that can be used by _inanimate objects_. Can you even imagine what that would be like? How much it would change? Edwarn is a pompous idiot, but he’s right about one thing - we’d no longer be shackled to the randomness, the _imbalance_ , of bloodlines and hereditary traits. It wouldn’t matter if you were born with a useless metal-” she gestured at Marasi, “-or with none at all-” and then to herself, “-because everyone could use every metal, whenever necessary. Hunger crises? Compounded Bendalloy medallions. Illness, disease? Compounded Gold. A society where no-one ever has to be held back by the circumstances of their birth or the whims of fate, where everyone is _truly_ equal!”

As she’d gone on, her tone had gotten more passionate, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. Now, she looked at Marasi expectantly, almost… hopefully?

Marasi stared at her for a moment. “...that’s it?”

“...what do you mean, ‘that’s it’?!”

“That’s _it?!_ ” Marasi repeated, more incredulous this time. “All this, just for some half-baked ‘the ends justify the means’? Rusts, I was at least expecting something _original_.”

“It’s _not-_ ” Telsin bit down on her words, composed herself. “It is _not,_ ” she repeated more firmly, “about ends justifying the means. It’s about the fact that we already _have_ the means, and nothing to show for it.”

“You just swapped some words around. That doesn’t actually _mean_ anything.”

Telsin scowled. “You were so much nicer when I wasn’t pointing a gun at you,” she muttered under her breath.

“What does it matter to you what I think of any of this, anyway?” Marasi demanded. “Why are you telling me any of this?”

“Well,” Telsin said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I was rather hoping to convince you to work with me.”

Subconsciously, Marasi had known that they had been leading up to this, or something like this.

That didn’t make it any easier to swallow when the actual moment came.

“...surely you’re joking,” Marasi said after a moment. “Also, that’s a very poor joke.”

“I am being perfectly serious.”

“Oh, good,” Marasi laughed weakly. “That’s definitely reassuring.”

“Think about it, Marasi,” Telsin insisted, leaning forward. “We both agree that there are parts of the Set that need to be eradicated, don’t we? I’m not saying you should come and work with me or anything ridiculous like that, but we can work _together._ Cut out the rot, from the inside and out. There’s no reason we have to be enemies. All the things you listed before? I can hand you the people responsible, trussed up like a midwinter’s turkey.”

“Leaving you conveniently with more power and influence in the Set,” Marasi noted.

“Well, yes, that’s rather the whole point.”

“And how long will that take? Years? Longer?”

“Sometimes you have to look at things in the long-term, Marasi,” Telsin said, with the incredible arrogance of someone talking down to their junior.

“Oh, I am. And in the _long term,_ how many more atrocities will the Set commit? How much more will you be party to?”

“Tch. As if they wouldn’t be doing that anyway.”

“Not if we _stop them,_ they won’t. If we take action to _prevent_ awful things from happening, instead of implicitly accepting that they’re going to happen no matter what.”

“And how well, exactly,” Telsin asked archly, “has that worked for you so far?”

“I would rather try and fail to do the right thing,” Marasi responded, “instead of just giving up entirely, saying ‘there’s nothing we can do about it’.”

“And if you try and _fail,_ if you _die,_ then things will continue regardless, and you will be unable to change _anything_ ever again.”

“Then I’ll pass beyond knowing I tried,” Marasi said, with conviction that was shakier than she made it sound. 

Telsin rolled her eyes. “How naive of you. Sometimes you have to lose a battle in order to win the war, Marasi.”

“Except, strangely, it’s never the people who die in that battle who are saying that, is it?”

“Oh, trust me,” Telsin said with a grim chuckle, “I have no aspirations as to a quiet retirement. Building a better world is worthwhile, but I have no illusions that it won't leave me behind.”

“‘A better world’ meaning… what? Your fantasy vision of the Metallic Arts as a great equaliser?!”

“ _Meaning_ ,” Telsin replied, “that Harmony made a mistake, with the Basin. He made life too easy for us, and we stagnated because of it.” She laughed, so very bitter. “A paradise on earth. Soil so fertile you could simply scatter seeds randomly and produce a harvest, animals of all varieties in abundance, fresh and clean water at our fingertips, perfect temperate weather… we were handed everything after the Catacendre, and it made us indolent and slack. Why bother pushing to advance, when we have everything we could ever need at our fingertips? Why bother innovating?” 

Her free hand was drumming furiously on the metal where it rested. Marasi didn’t think she was even aware of it.

“And yet,” she went on, “despite _all that_ , what have we done with it? Look at Allik’s people! From what we’ve been able to tell, they were forced to start over after the Catacendre just as we were in the Basin. But where we were born into luxury, they had _nothing_ , barely even the furs to survive the chills they found themselves incapable of handling. And look where they are now!” She gestured around, at the ship’s engine. “While we struggle to combust petroleum with clunky machinery, they have _airships_ that can travel halfway around the world, the Metallic Arts distilled into medallions, accessible to anyone! They had to claw and fight and _struggle_ for every single day they had, and it made them _strong_. It made them smart and tough and resilient, while we are weak, and indolent and _lazy._ And still, _still._ Still we have poverty and crime and disease and inequality. At least _they_ have something to show for it.”

“So…” Marasi said slowly. “Just so I understand. You’re saying… that if people are going to suffer, then we should at least get progress out of it.”

“Yes!” Telsin said enthusiastically. “I knew you’d understand-”

“That’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard,” Marasi said flatly. “And I regularly spend time around Wayne.”

"...okay,” Telsin said after a moment, almost but not quite hiding that she'd been thrown off. “Then work with me. Show me what the better way is, if you’re so convinced you know it. Be _productive,_ instead of making pointless moral stands without actually achieving anything.”

Marasi stood up from her seat. Telsin instantly matched the movement, raising the pistol, but she didn’t make any move to advance forward, just clenched her fists at her sides.

“No,” Marasi said quietly.

“I’m… sorry?”

“You heard me,” Marasi repeated, firmer now. “No, to everything you just said.”

Telsin sighed. “Don’t be immature, Marasi, it’s unbecoming. You sound like a child refusing to eat her vegetables.”

“And yet: no!” She straightened her spine, forcing herself to stare the other woman down. “I reject, categorically and specifically, every _rust-damned_ thing you just said.” She hadn’t known what she was going to say when she opened her mouth, hadn’t been able to articulate her own thoughts, but now she found that something had sparked deep inside her, thousands of tiny unconnected thoughts and moments clicking together into a coherent whole. “We haven’t advanced as quickly as the Southerners? So _what?!_ Who _cares?!_ We’ve had a lush paradise? _Good._ Great! It’s not- you’re talking about it like it’s some abstract number, like they had five hundred units of suffering and we only had five, but it’s _not_. It’s the lives of _real people,_ real hardships, real _pain_. The _problem_ isn’t that we didn’t have enough suffering, the _problem_ is that they had to suffer in the first place!”

“And yet we _still_ have suffering,” Telsin spat. “Even with all of those advantages, we still _suffer_ for _nothing_ -”

“Then _do something about it!_ ” Marasi cried, advancing another step. “We still suffer for nothing?! _Nothing_ is not the part about that sentence that needs to be changed!”

“I _am!_ ” Telsin shot back. “Were you not listening to _anything_ I just said? The whole _point_ of any of this is about changing things! Once we have the ability to mass-produce these medallions-”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Marasi scoffed, “don’t you try that with me. Which part of Allik’s society seemed _equal_ and _uplifted_ to you?! The part where they have a new noble class of Metalborn like we’re back in the Final Empire?! Which is it, Telsin? Is it about _progress_ or is it about _restitution?!_ Or is it just all _excuses,_ justifications to cover up the fact that at the end of the day, it’s just about _power_ like everyone else in your stupid cult? Like your _uncle_?!”

Telsin flinched at that one. “Don’t you _dare-_ ” she hissed.

“Why not?! Because you’re more _polite?!_ ” She took another step forward; Telsin took another step back. “Even if you actually _believe_ that nonsense you just spouted, at the end of the day something has to be _deeply_ wrong with you, for you to think that any piece of technology is worth even a _single_ life. At least Edwarn doesn’t pretend otherwise.”

Watching the violent storm of emotions that flickered and warred across Telsin’s face, Marasi almost felt bad for what she’d said. Only for a moment, though.

Telsin mastered herself, running a hand through her hair with a growl. “Well,” she said, “I suppose my estimation of you was too high after all. To be honest, I don’t know why I expected any different.”

“Neither do I!” Marasi snapped. “What, do you ‘see yourself in me’? If so, I’ll just save us both the trouble and throw myself off the ship. What, did you hold me at gunpoint just so you’d have a captive audience?!”

After just _slightly_ too long, Telsin said, “Don’t be asinine”, and Marasi suddenly understood.

What she’d said, about having to talk in threats and barbs, always plotting and hiding her intentions… 

How long had it been since she’d had an open and honest conversation with another person? How long since she’d talked about- about books? About something that she enjoyed, something that didn’t really matter?

In a pang of unwanted commonality, Marasi realised that the other woman was _lonely._ Lonely and scared. 

Not scared of Marasi - that would be ridiculous. But she _was_ scared. She needed so _desperately_ to make some meaning out of all the suffering she’d witnessed. If there was a purpose, a goal, an _endpoint_ , then it ultimately meant something. 

Because to her the alternative, that none of it had any greater meaning, that suffering was just pain with nothing gained from it… that was unacceptable.

“I’m not going to work with you, Telsin,” Marasi said, filled with an odd, distant calm. “Not now, not ever. Nothing you say or do will _ever_ be enough to outweigh the things you’ve been party to. And- I’m sorry. Sorry that you ended up here, that you couldn’t see any other way. But that doesn’t make it justified.”

“...I see,” Telsin said softly, eyes shadowed. “Is that all you have to say?”

In response, Marasi spat on the floor in front of her. Not the most original, or sophisticated, but it felt entirely appropriate.

Telsin nodded. “This has been… such a disappointment,” she said sadly. “I really had hoped… but no matter.” She lifted the revolver and pointed it at Marasi’s torso, a leaden expression on her face. “Don’t worry,” she said dispassionately. “You’ll survive for now. Even a Pulser isn’t worth wasting.”

 _Well,_ Marasi thought, adrenaline-glib, _at least I have prior experience._

At this distance, trying to redirect it with a bubble had a decent chance of sending the shot straight into her head. She braced herself to leap forward, accepting that she was going to get shot no matter what. Hopefully, she could at least get one over Telsin before the pain hit. There was a window just behind where the other woman was standing; maybe she could-

Marasi blinked, not quite believing what her eyes were telling her. 

Then, she started to laugh.

She laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to suck enough air into her lungs and quickly dissolving into choking, half-caws. Even remaining upright was rapidly becoming a challenge, as she nearly doubled over, tears streaming from her eyes.

“...Marasi?” Telsin asked, sounding as genuinely baffled as Marasi had ever heard her. “Are you- what is _happening_? Are you okay?”

“I’m- sorry,” Marasi gasped, clutching her stomach. “It- you- _pulp!_ ” That set her off again, without even having recovered fully the first time around.

“That’s _enough_ ,” Telsin snapped. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Marasi, but it ends _now_.”

“No- game.” Marasi held up a shaking hand, staggering forward slightly. Telsin stepped back in response, keeping a distance between them. “I- it’s not even that- _funny!_ I’m just- hah, adrenaline, and- and- it’s _such_ a cliche you said you don’t- and now-” 

Finally, she managed to look up, grinning so wide it hurt.

“It’s _funny_ ,” Marasi choked. “It’s _stupid,_ and you _hate it_ , and it’s- because- I have- _one thing you don’t_.” She cackled wildly.

“What?!” Telsin demanded, thumbing the hammer of her revolver back. “Rusts, stop _laughing_!”

In between the desperate gasps of laughter, Marasi managed to choke out one single word in answer.

 _“Friends._ ”

Just for a second, _just for the barest instant_ , Telsin’s eyes darted over to the doorway.

And in that tiniest moment of distraction, a hand smashed through the window she was standing beside and grabbed her by the collar.

Telsin’s head snapped around, eyes going wide. On the other side of the glass, grinning like a madwoman, MeLaan clung to the side of the ship, a weight medallion hanging around her neck. Behind her, a skimmer was keeping pace with the larger ship - Allik and Wayne visible in the cockpit, Steris in the passenger compartment.

Steris, who tried to be prepared for any eventuality. Steris, who had secreted away medallions and metal vials in the secret compartment of her notebook. Steris, who was so committed to being useful that she’d asked MeLaan how best to prepare for emergencies that befell _her_ in particular.

_The noise of a door clattering shut pulled Marasi out of her head, and she turned just in time to see MeLaan returning from the carriage to where Steris sat._

_The kandra woman handed something over, which Steris received gratefully, and then noticed Marasi, giving her a little wink before turning back to the conversation._

Steris, who in addition to metals and medallions, had _also_ had in her notebook a small metal syringe, identical in design to the ones they’d attempted to use on Paalm - except that where the liquid in that one had borne a subtle red tint, this one had been blue.

A counteragent.

Telsin jerked back, but MeLaan’s grip on her collar was rock-solid, and she yanked the other woman forward towards the window, head-first.

Marasi looked away just before Telsin’s skull collided with the bulkhead, but was unable to avoid the wet, meaty _crunch_ of the impact. The noise re-occurred three more times, and only when she heard Telsin slump bonelessly to the ground did she look back up. Logically, she knew that the other woman was a Bloodmaker, that the violence was both necessary and unlikely to be lethal, but the sight of a familiar face on a motionless, battered form was still distinctly disturbing. 

“Well, _friend_ , technically,” Marasi said to Telsin’s unconscious form. “That wasn’t as snappy, though.”

MeLaan withdrew her arm from the hole in the window, letting the wind start to roar through. A moment later, the sound of glass shattering joined it as she started methodically punching the rest of the thick glass out of its frame. Hastily, Marasi rushed over, grabbing Telsin’s revolver and using the barrel to help scrape the fragments free. Once they had cleared the window, she stepped back and watched MeLaan pull herself through, contorting in her usual inhuman way to fit through a hole barely three handspans at its widest.

MeLaan righted herself, feet touching down onto the ground with the lightness of her Skimmer medallion, with a cocky grin on her face. “So,” she started to say, “you come here-”

Marasi practically tackled her, wrapping her up in a tight hug. “That,” she said into the fabric, “was the _stupidest_ thing I have _ever_ seen.”

After a second, MeLaan’s arms wrapped around her, hugging her back. “Nah,” she said gently. “It would’ve been stupider if it hadn’t worked.”

Marasi laughed, freeing one hand so she could reach up and wipe some of the tears away from her eyes but not breaking the hug. “Can’t argue with that. How did you find me?”  
MeLaan grinned awkwardly, glancing up at the ceiling. “We actually, uh… didn’t? We were just trying to find the engines until I spotted you through the window. Although, I did have a… you know.”

“I don’t, actually?”

She freed one of her own hands and made a tiny upwards gesture. “I had a _hunch._ To go for the engines. You know?”

This time, Marasi did know. “Oh. Oh wow.”

“Yep,” MeLaan said with a grin. “I guess you could consider that a seal of approval from the big man.”

“Approval of what?” Marasi laughed.

“Oh,” MeLaan said with a lascivious smirk, “could be a couple of different things.”

Marasi still blushed, but she had a much easier time affectionately brushing it off, rather than just devolving into an incoherent mess. Maybe it was the adrenaline.  
It was probably the adrenaline. 

She loosened her hold slightly, leaning back so she could take MeLaan in. She looked worn and pale, almost certainly starving, and instead of her lacerated outfit before, she was wearing a familiar-looking dark blue walking suit that didn’t quite fit her currently-lanky frame-

 _That’s_ my _walking suit._

 _She’s wearing my_ clothes _._

The realisation filled Marasi with a heady rush of possessive _want_ , which she tried to push down and was only partially successful in doing so. 

“So,” MeLaan asked. “I seem to recall you saying something about it being unfair you didn’t get a proper kiss?”

“I may have said something like that,” Marasi replied coyly. 

“Seems like a pretty easy problem to solve, then.”

“I don’t know…” Marasi hummed, faking reticence. “You can’t get a proper kiss just anywhere, you know.”

“Really? So you’re saying that the last time I kissed you, it _didn’t_ leave you breathless.”

“Only one way to find out.”

The corner of MeLaan’s mouth quirked up for a moment. “Listen,” she said softly, “you know I love the banter as much as the next girl. But I _really_ need to be sure here.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Marasi agreed. They were _very_ close now.

“Do you want me to kiss you? Properly, this time?” MeLaan murmured, her breath ghosting over Marasi’s lips. She was trying to sound cool and collected, but Marasi could see right through her, hear the anxious edge running underneath her words.

It was endearing, she decided.

“No,” Marasi said back at the same volume, glancing down at MeLaan’s lips for just a moment. “I don’t.”

MeLaan’s breath caught in her throat, and she jerked backwards. “Uh-”

Slightly too late, Marasi parsed how her words would have come off, and just decided to roll with it. “ _I_ ,” she continued, “want to kiss _you_.”

MeLaan visibly sagged with relief. “Oh, _good,_ ” she breathed. “Harmony, don’t _scare_ me like that, Mara. I thought I’d just-”

Her words caught in her throat as Marasi pulled her down by her lapels and kissed her. Just lightly, a brush of lips, but when she pulled back, MeLaan looked like she’d been hit by a train. 

“You were saying?” Marasi asked, laughter bubbling up and out through the words.

“...you know what?” MeLaan said. “It’s not important.”

Marasi hummed agreement. “That’s what I thought.” 

This time, when she pulled MeLaan back down, it went on for significantly longer. 

And if their first proper kiss happened over an unconscious body, well-

It was probably an accurate representation of their lives anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these bitches gay! good for them! good for them.
> 
> whew. lot to unpack there. next chapter is basically an epilogue, wrapping a few things up and whatnot and then that's it! wild!
> 
> notes:  
> \- told you the book conversation would come back around. this is literally so fucking dumb but i will not apologise in any way.  
> \- little bit of a stretch here with the counteragent thing. i should have mentioned it existing more explicitly earlier on, as well as the detail about MeLaan giving Steris something back in Chapter Ten. Oops.  
> \- i hope it doesn’t come off too badly. i may go back and edit something in for the future if it seems particularly contrived.  
> \- i also hope marasi's counterarguments dont come off as too screed-y. i did always dislike that bit in the novel, esp. cause its said by a theoretically heroic character (melaan). just the whole line of reasoning really rubs me the wrong way. marasi isnt necessarily someone who's had a Fully Developed Worldview and ideology before this point so this is more a crystallisation of like. 'its good to care about other people' than a battle of wills and politics  
> \- telsin sure does love her... ellipses. what can i say, she's ended up as someone who waxes poetic a little. better than everyone sounding the same at least.  
> \- heh. waxes.


	19. A Parable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Not every end is a goal. The end of a melody is not its goal: but nonetheless, had the melody not reached its end it would not have reached its goal either. **A parable**.
> 
> \- Friedrich Nietzsche, _Der Wanderer und sein Schatten_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay on this one.

The wind on top of Aradel Tower was sharp and biting, funneled as it was through the twisting maze of skyscrapers that rose up from Elendel below. No mists tonight - the air was almost sharp in its clarity, here above the smog and smoke of the factories and cars on the ground. Below them, the city lights were beginning to flicker on, a patchwork quilt of amber dots beating back the dusk. It was a beautiful sight, and one Marasi rarely got to see, but it was hard to pay attention to it when there were events of historic proportions happening right in front of her. 

Governor Aradel stood in front of a group of constabulary officers, members of the press, and various officials, facing a woman wearing thick furs and a wooden mask - Jordis, the former captain of the Brunstell. Behind her, the rest of the crew were arranged - the _entire_ rest of the crew, despite the fact that the Hunter airship still hovered behind them, ramp extended down onto the rooftop. 

(Marasi had been worried about the ship blowing away without someone to manage the wind, but when they’d descended the ramp onto the rooftop she’d noticed the cables that had been tied around various points on Aradel Tower. _Rather like mooring a boat_ , she’d thought, and had then amended that thought to _exactly like mooring a boat, really._ And then she’d started to drift off into wondering about the degree to which the terminology had cross-applicability, and whether the use of nautical terms was a function of the medallions, or if the Southerners had the same crossover in their own language, and then they’d reached the bottom of the ramp and she’d nearly tripped and fallen flat on her face.)

Framed by the flashes of cameras, Governor Aradel and Jordis shook hands, their posture stiff and formal. Polite applause came from the Elendel party - from the Southerners, a mix of slightly unfamiliar clapping in imitation, and the quiet rattle of knuckles against the wood of their masks that Marasi had to assume was their equivalent.

“Y’know,” Wayne said, “for a historic’lly signific’nt event, I was really expectin’ more… significance.”

The five of them were standing off to one side, watching the proceedings. Their little group’s role in the entire affair was still hard to pin down, and rather than cause any potential drama, they’d all readily agreed to stay out of the proceedings.

“That’s because you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective,” MeLaan said. She was wearing her shorter, rounder body, leaning on Marasi for support. 

Partially for support.

“Oh?”

“This,” and she gestured out at the scene in front of them, “isn’t the history-altering event. I mean, it _is,_ but people won’t remember it that way. What people will _remember_ is looking out at the horizon and seeing a flying ship on the horizon. _That_ was the moment everything changed. This is just… the aftercare.”

“So… yer sayin’ I should learn to appreciate the more mundane details of history?” Wayne asked sceptically. 

“Oh, no, definitely not,” MeLaan replied. “This is boring as _hell_.”

* * *

As always, after the excitement came… everything else. 

It turned out that after Wax had arrested and secured Edwarn, he’d managed to get the airship to come to a stop. Marasi, down in the engine room, hadn’t even noticed the change, but it filled her with an odd, fluttery warmth to know that Wax had trusted her to handle her own situation, rather than immediately rushing down. 

After a bit of yelling back and forth, Allik took the skimmer with the others back around to the top of the ship, and they all reached the main deck at just about the same time. There had been a few Set soldiers here and there on the way, but they hadn’t given Marasi and MeLaan any real trouble - with Telsin’s unconscious form slung effortlessly over the kandra’s shoulders, none of them had been willing to shoot at them and risk hitting ‘Lady Sequence’. 

There, they found an unconscious Edwarn, bound with pieces of torn-up fabric, and Waxillium sitting on the floor, continuing to tear up his shirt to use as bandages for _yet another_ gunshot wound. 

After they finished with all the requisite emotions and recaps, and Steris and Wayne had stopped staring at Waxillium’s exposed abdomen, Allik took the helm and turned the ship around, pointing them back towards the temple - a journey of only a few minutes, for all that it had felt like longer.

The structure reappeared around a mountain ridge just in time for them all to see a skimmer disappear behind the mountain beyond it, a glint of the sun off the metal construction before it slipped out of sight. 

A greeting party were waiting for them in the courtyard, the freed crew of the _Brunstell_ hastily armed with rifles and makeshift clubs in case the ship’s pilots turned out to not be friendly. Thankfully, Wax was recovered enough at that point to fly down to them, Steris in tow, to diffuse the situation (Allik would have been the obvious choice, but he was essential to the process of actually _landing_ the ship rather than simply crashing it as gently as possible).

Once all the obligatory negotiations and posturing were settled and both groups established to be essentially on the same side, it turned out that the skimmer they’d seen had been piloted by a few of the more highly-ranked Set staff who had still remained at the temple - among their number, a woman in a heavy coat that Marasi assumed to be Sect, Telsin’s erstwhile… assistant? Secretary? Telsin’s _something._

Things took a slightly hairier turn once more when Waxillium returned from an unannounced steel-powered jaunt with the Bands of Mourning in tow, but eventually they settled on an agreement. 

MeLaan, acting in her official capacity as hand of Harmony, would take stewardship of the Bands, keeping them safe inside her own body until they could be secreted away to never be seen again. The Southerners would take the Hunter ship in lieu of their own, and drop the five of them along with their prisoners off in Elendel. In return, they agreed to not return to the Basin at the head of a vengeful army of airships, and to advocate for opening diplomatic channels. 

Which everyone agreed was preferable, generally speaking.

(Of course, the sight of a large airship floating towards the capital might have started a war all on its own, but Wax had dropped down to Dulsing and sent telegrams back to the capital to prepare for their arrival).

And so, Marasi's journey back to Elendel was done above the clouds, watching the landscape drift by beneath them. With emphasis on _drift_ ; airships were a fascinating method of transport, but not a terribly _quick_ one. Their trek across the plains between New Seran and Dulsing a few days prior had only taken so long because they had been tracking back and forth. In a straight line, a horse-drawn carriage could do the trip in half a day; a train, barely two hours. It took the airship a full day, and another two from there back to Elendel. 

Which meant they’d spent three days essentially trapped aboard a ship with a group of strangers that had _very good reason_ to think poorly of their entire culture. 

Shockingly, it had been the two most diametrically opposed of their group who had gotten along best with the Southerners.

Marasi and Wax, being Metalborn, were treated with a mix of fearful respect, hostility and suspicion from the crew; deference and obsequious flattery to their faces, stares and murmurs behind their backs. Allik had obviously explained enough about MeLaan that the crew gave her a wide berth, when she left the bunk at all - evidently, they didn’t have Faceless Immortals of their own back home. 

On the other hand, Wayne had evidently convinced Allik not to mention him being Metalborn to the rest of the crew, and he had spent most of his time amongst them, flitting from room to room, mimicking accents and mannerisms in a way that the crew seemed to find strangely endearing, Allik following closely on his heels wherever he went in a manner that reminded Marasi of an overeager puppy. The dynamic, from what little she saw of it, seemed oddly familiar in a way she couldn’t place. 

And then there was Steris 

With no Allomancy or Feruchemy to revere, no strange powers, she was the only ‘normal person’ in their party, and the crew clearly recognised her as such. Which was not to take credit away from her own efforts; Marasi’s sister took to the Southerners' oddly ritualised culture like a fish to water. 

By the second day of the trip, she was greeting them by name and matching their gestures and mannerisms. Judging by the scraps of wood that she noticed in her sister’s hair, Marasi even had a sneaking suspicion that she had attempted to make a mask like theirs; although they’d arrived in Elendel before that could be proved one way or the other. 

Jordis in particular warmed to the incumbent Lady Ladrian, in a way that even the majority of her crew didn’t seem privy to. What little interaction Marasi had had with the Southerner captain over the airship journey back to the city had given her the impression of a dour, focused woman who kept a tight ship and a tighter schedule; a contrast to the cheery, slightly awkward Allik. It was a good reminder that the Southerners were just people like anyone else, not a great, uniform mass of a foreign culture. 

From what Marasi had been able to gather, the captain felt indebted to Steris for saving her crew - half of their number had been quite literally minutes away from an icy death before Steris and the others had gotten the medallions to them, and Allik had made it very clear who had been carrying the medallions in the first place. Steris had spent almost as much time around the captain as she had her fiancee, engaged in enthusiastic conversation while Jordis went about her duties. Oftentimes, Steris had even been taking notes during conversation, which Marasi hadn’t seen her do in _years_. 

(Marasi had also thought she’d seen the captain’s gaze following her sister in a way that felt… familiar. She was probably just projecting, overapplying new information).

(Then again, the icy dislike towards Waxillium that Jordis only barely kept in check did feel more _personal_ than the rest…)

The two of them had therefore been the ones handling the majority of the interactions with the crew. Waxillium had mostly spent the time brooding, or unsuccessfully trying to interrogate his uncle, while Marasi and MeLaan had mostly stayed in their room.

For _perfectly chaste reasons,_ no matter what Wayne kept trying to imply.

Even though kandra were functionally immortal unless their spikes were removed, MeLaan had taken a _lot_ of injuries in a very short span of time. The way Marasi understood it, she could mitigate some of the consequences and delay the rest of them, but only for so long. Lactic acid buildup had been about as Marasi had been able to follow it before it moved beyond her comprehension, but the long and short of it seemed to be that the longer a kandra put off getting themself back to normal, the worse the eventual downtime would be. 

A few of the corpses back at the temple had discretely disappeared before they’d left, and Marasi had chosen not to say anything, even if thinking about the concept left her feeling somewhat disturbed. 

Even after having consumed enough nutrients to feed an average person for a week, MeLaan had still spent most of their trip back dozing, and even when she was awake, she moved with a sleepy slowness, reactions slowed and speech mumbled. She was still cogent and coherent, but it was as if she was constantly in the first few moments after being woken up.

It was, quite frankly, adorable, and Marasi was looking forward to teasing her about it once she was back to her usual self. 

It _did_ mean that they hadn’t talked overmuch, but Marasi didn’t particularly mind. 

Mostly, though, they’d just sat together in a bunk, silently existing together. Marasi was using the time to write up a report for her superiors back in Elendel, sitting with her back up against the wall as she wrote, MeLaan curled up next to them. She’d started out sitting behind Marasi, arms curled loosely around her, but after she’d started drooling on Marasi’s shoulder, she’d made an executive decision and rearranged them, laying MeLaan down across her so that she was half-curled up in Marasi’s lap. The extra warmth helped to counteract the chill of the altitude, and after she got over the initial reaction to having a very attractive woman curled up on top of her, Marasi had found that her simple presence was surprisingly comfortable. 

Marasi had always thought of someone who needed her personal space, but the utter lack of discomfort she felt at being close to MeLaan had made her start to question that. More and more, she found herself drifting back to her past, trying to figure out if there were signs, things she should have seen before, behaviours that could be explained in hindsight.

Which was… not exactly conducive to writing her reports. Or really, any sort of productive thought in general. She learned quickly that the lines of thought it tended to lead her down weren’t pleasant ones, but kept slipping back in, to the point where it was an active distraction.

At one point, she’d been on the way back from the washroom late at night when she’d started to drift off into her own thoughts, and had come back to herself to find that she’d gotten utterly lost. Being unable to read any of the signs meant that all the bronze hallways tended to blend together in her mind, and her attempts to find her way back had only led her further astray, until she’d finally stepped into a corridor and found herself stopped dead in her tracks by the smell of cigar smoke and alcohol. 

She’d mostly gotten used to the scents individually, gained enough associated experiences to render them essentially neutral, but the specific combination of the two on top of her hazy, half-asleep state turned out to tear effortlessly through twenty years of history, leaving her six years old and desperately trying to make it to the washroom and back without being heard. It had only lasted for the span of time between one step and the next, but still managed to be vivid enough to leave her reeling, slumber peeling away under a rush of adrenaline. 

Despite herself, she’d followed the scents back to their source; a cabin door left ajar, light spilling out through the cracks. She’d like to think it was only because she was looking for a distraction, but she couldn’t help but creep closer and peer through the crack between the door and the wall.

Inside, sitting on the floor next to one of the bunks, passing a small bottle of alcohol back and forth as they talked, were Wax and Wayne. Wax was idly smoking a cigar, the smoke curling up to pool on the ceiling, and Wayne’s free hand was at his side, resting on top of his bowler hat and drumming it with his fingers. She couldn’t - didn’t _want_ to - make out their conversation, but their faces were dour, Wayne’s eyes red-rimmed from crying. 

Wayne said something, and Wax hesitated slightly before reaching out for him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

At which point the feeling of voyeurism grew overwhelming and Marasi had hastily backed away before they noticed her. Not her finest moment, but it had been… relieving, to see them airing things out. 

She did end up having to backtrack all the way to the washroom in order to get back to her own bunk, though. 

* * *

With the ceremonial part of the meeting finished, Aradel and Jordis had moved over to one side, where a table had been set up behind the stairwell entrance to protect it from the wind, both accompanied by a few of their respective subordinates. 

Marasi was more than happy to not be in either of their places - Jordis was a captain, not a diplomat, and Aradel had only had three days to desperately prepare for an entirely unprecedented political situation. 

“D’we really hafta be here for this?” Wayne asked after a few minutes of watching them work, passing papers back and forth and debating details. 

“For once, I agree with Wayne,” Wax said, ignoring the mock-offence Wayne put on at his words. “We should’ve offloaded the prisoners _first_.”

“Relax, Ladrian,” MeLaan drawled. She was mostly back to her usual self, but her eyelids kept drooping when she thought no-one was looking. Marasi still found it adorable - really, she found almost _everything_ the other woman did adorable. It was almost embarrassing. “They kept for three days; they’ll keep for another hour.”

“No,” Wax pointed out. “They _didn’t_. Not all of them.”

From where their arms were touching, Marasi felt the vibrations of MeLaan’s wince

* * *

On the second day of their journey, the ship had been rocked with a sudden, violent impact - far beyond any of the turbulence they’d experienced before then. 

Marasi had been up on deck, getting some sun and fresh air while watching Allik try and teach Wayne how to dance. Evidently, it was of some cultural import to the Southerners - enough to have drawn a small crowd of observers. 

The impact had come halfway through the two-step, sending the crowd sprawling, nearly making Marasi drop her book over the edge before she recovered. The crew immediately scrambled away, and there were a few minutes of confusion and frenetic action as they prepared for the worst, but word eventually came through that nothing was wrong with the engines, and that the impact had come from the brig.

Said brig was small and mostly pristine - the way Jordis had talked about the subject had given Marasi the impression that they had been more likely to simply toss a sufficiently troublesome person overboard rather than lock them up. 

She’d also strongly implied, without ever outright stating, that it was one of very few areas in which she agreed with them.

Marasi had found that somewhat discomforting, but had held her tongue. They needed the _Brunstell_ ’s crew to operate the ship, and also to not start a major diplomatic incident with their new allies by opening a likely-divisive discussion of morality and justice. 

The vast majority of the Set soldiers they’d taken prisoner had been kept in the cargo bay of the ship instead, bound and captive with armed guards. It wasn’t ideal, but they simply hadn’t had any better alternatives - although the fact that Marasi had returned every 8 hours to charge a primer cube with a cadmium bubble certainly mitigated the worst of that. When they unloaded them from the ship after the diplomatic niceties were all done, it was Marasi’s estimate that about half a day would have passed for them; barely enough time to recover from the injuries most of them had taken at the temple, let alone start organising a breakout.

The four cells in the brig had been reserved for the more important prisoners. Two of them contained two other higher-ranked Set personnel each, identifiable by their former possession of Hemalurgic spikes, and the remaining two held Edwarn and Telsin Ladrian respectively. 

Or, _had_ held Edwarn and Telsin, because when they arrived, they found that only the former of those was still true. Telsin’s cell was completely empty, and had a hole torn through the metal floor - one that continued through the decks below and out the bottom of the ship.

Once Telsin had recovered from her injuries, they’d taken the medallion back and pulled out the three spikes they’d found on her, storing them in the spare blood vials MeLaan had brought along (labelled, of course - the last thing they wanted was to mix them up with ReLuur’s spike after everything). They’d also relieved her of her metalminds, but unfortunately the gold ones weren’t unkeyed like Kelesina’s had been. 

And yet, she’d somehow managed to store enough weight to tear her way free of her cell.

Wayne had immediately suggested crude something about all the different places she could’ve been hiding another spike, but the more Marasi thought about the temple, though, the way Telsin had shifted her weight with confidence and grace, the answer had seemed obvious.

Telsin Ladrian, like her brother, was a Skimmer. 

At some point between the engine room and when they’d pulled out her spikes, she must have swallowed or otherwise hidden an iron metalmind, and just waited until she could store up enough iron to break free.

Waxillium… had not taken that particularly well.

“All those years,” he’d muttered under his breath, looking at the hole in the floor. "All those years and I had no idea."

"You hadn't sent her in nigh-on two decades, and the last time you had you were both teenagers," Steris had pointed out primly. "I hardly think you can be blamed for not knowing."

Wax offered her a small smile. "How is it you always seem to know the right thing to say these days?"

Steris matched his smile in exacting detail. "Practice."

At which point Wayne had made a gagging noise, so Marasi elbowed him in the stomach.

* * *

After another ten or so minutes of standing about, which Marasi spent leaning into MeLaan’s warmth while trying to not look obvious about it, Aradel and Jordis stood up from their seats and shook hands once more, a little less stiff this time. 

“Rustin’ _finally_ ,” Wayne muttered, hopping up from the ground where he’d been sitting and dusting himself off. “Thought we was gonna die of old age up here.”

“Great point, Wayne,” MeLaan said. “You should tell them that! I bet they’d really appreciate the observation.” As much as Marasi was leaning into her, the reverse was also true

Out of sight, Marasi pinched her in the side. “Don’t you start,” she muttered under her breath.

“Come on,” MeLaan replied at the same volume, “you don’t think it’d be funny?”

“Oh yes, international diplomatic incidents are _hilarious_.”

“Hey,” she muttered, “comedy is just tragedy plus time, right?”

That got an ugly snort out of Marasi, which she only just managed to smooth away as Jordis approached them, the rest of the crew behind them, Allik among their number. This was why they’d remained present, despite the lack of diplomatic relevance .

“Lords,” Jordis said stiffly. “Ladies,” she added, significantly less so. “Once again, your kindness in saving us truly knows no bounds. Our lives are bound to your hands.” Marasi assumed that the last part was some kind of idiom or similar phrase. 

“No thanks are necessary,” Waxillium said calmly. “And you don’t owe us any debt, either. We just did what was right.”

“Of course,” Jordis said, clearly not believing him in the slightest. “Nevertheless…”

She gestured, and one of the crew stepped forward, and passed her a small lacquered box, which she then proceeded to hold out towards Waxillium with both hands.

"Our gift," Jordis said. It was hard to tell through the thick accent, but Marasi got the impression she wasn't particularly happy about what she'd just done. Which was strange, seeing as she was the highest authority among her people present, so it wasn't as if someone else was forcing her to do so. 

Then again, what was a higher authority than upbringing and culture?

Jordis was still standing there, box outstretched. Waxillium was clearly unsure what to do, but just as he opened his mouth, Steris stepped forward in his stead.

She took the box solemnly, bowing over it slightly the same way Jordis did. "Our honour," she replied. 

Both she and Jordis stepped back at the same time, and even though she couldn’t see her face behind the mask, Marasi got the strangest impression that the airship captain was smiling. 

“Fair winds and warm hearths, _Brunstell,_ ” Steris said. 

“And to you as well, Lady Ladrian.”

With that concluded, Jordis went to leave, but before she could, Allik hurried out of the group towards them, hands full and expression nervous. He was maskless, and judging by the stares he was getting from the rest of the gathered crew, that was not a gesture to be taken lightly.

He stopped in front of Marasi first. “Oh, Munificent Metal Maiden,” he said to her, bowing slightly over a small paper package. “Our gift, if it pleases you.”

“Oh, er-” She remembered what Steris had just done, and imitated it, bowing as well as she took the package. “Our honour,” she said. Judging by the relieved grin on Allik’s face, it was the right thing to say.

“Choc, eh?” he said with a wink. “Til we come around again and you can get more.”

“Oh!” Marasi repeated, significantly more genuine. “Thank you, Allik, that’s very thoughtful of you.” She’d taken quite a liking to the powdered drink over the trip - it was warm and sugary and comforting in all the best ways.

With that done, Allik turned to- 

Wayne?

“Your Wayneliness,” he said, trying and failing to contain a nervous grin. He reached into his furs, and pulled out the two broken halves of the mask he’d been wearing when they’d met. “Our- gift.”

“Eh?” Wayne asked, seeming genuinely confused. “Wha’, fer me?”

Allik nodded enthusiastically, a faint flush to his cheeks. Behind him, the rest of his crew were muttering, agitated. A few were making small gestures as they stared at him, while Jordis simply folded her arms.

“ _Wayne,_ ” Marasi hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“Wh- oh, right!” He took the mask halves, performing a ‘bow’ that was more of an awkward duck. “My honour?”

Allik looked down, flushing. “I’ll- try and be on the ship they send, ya? If I don’t get thrown overboard on the way back, ha.”

“Eh,” Wayne shrugged, “yer tough, you’d survive. If ya make it back, guess I’ll hafta show you what _we_ do for fun. _Way_ better than dancing.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” With another flustered grin, Allik jogged backwards towards the rest of the crew, giving an awkward little wave.

As they watched him follow the rest of the crew back up the ramp onto their ship, Wayne nudged Marasi with his elbow. 

“Ey, Mara.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I reckon Allik might be _sweet_ on you.”

Marasi and MeLaan exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.

“What?” Wayne asked. “What’d I say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have literally had that final moment in mind since like chapter three  
> so hey! that's it! the end! for now! kind of!  
> this has been an unexpectedly fun experience - thank you all for your comments, it's really helped motivate myself to write, and im glad so many people have enjoyed it!  
> obviously it's not Over over - you might've already seen, but I've put up the sequel under construction, titled Foxtail. I've got some fun ideas, and I'm hoping to keep to the same schedule as Calamine, but not immediately - there's a few bits and bobs I want to add to Tailings first just for clarity's sake. Plus i want to have a bit of time off to hopefully smash out an unrelated fic ive had on the backburner.  
> so let's just say... the first chapter of Foxtail will be posted in 3 weeks, on Tuesday the 1st of December. Click through to next and hit subscribe for that one.  
> once again, thank you all very much for your continued patronage! ~~Marasi and MeLaan will return in Avengers: Infinity War~~
> 
> notes one last time just for fun:  
> \- wayne/allik is no, but allik having little baby gay crush on wayne is Big Yes  
> \- steris ladrian cultural ambassador  
> \- this has absolutely turned into a steris rights fic and i wont apologise  
> \- she deserves to be respected, liked, and also to get some good dick  
> \- telsin also being a skimmer isnt like. a twist. i just thought itd be neat, and it got her out of the way so if i ever follow up on the main plot after the final novel comes out i have the pieces in the same place.  
> \- if anyone cares the three spikes she had were Bloodmaker, Coinshot and Leecher, and she probably swallowed an ironmind not what wayne was saying  
> \- all of the kandra lore in this chapter is completely made up. more made up than the rest of it, i mean. its mostly just me doing whatever i think is most interesting cause i want to dig into kandra more at some point. lotsa potential there

**Author's Note:**

> updates tuesdays, hopefully


End file.
